


Resurgence

by squiggly_squid



Series: Parable [3]
Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Minor Original Character(s), Renegade Commander Shepard, Renegon (Mass Effect), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-15 04:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 57
Words: 242,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiggly_squid/pseuds/squiggly_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Covers the events of Mass Effect 2 with the concept that Garrus and Shepard were married before the events of the first game. This is the third installment of the Parable Series (Juxtaposed and Genesis).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

-Garrus-

"Why,  _Officer,_ I must say I've never quite been treated in such a way," Jane says with a smirk pulling at her flushed lips.

Garrus chuckles tiredly and nuzzles against her jaw. "I would hope not." He unlocks the cuffs around her wrists and tosses them aside to message the light pink ring in her skin. "Is this what you meant about humans 'role-playing'?"

She laughs at that and cups his mandibles. "How the hell would I know?" She kisses him along his mandible and he purrs in response, resting his weight on his forearms, too comfortable over her to move. "Besides, I think it turned out quite well."

He snorts and nudges her chin up to lick against the salty-sweet taste of her after-sex sweat. "I'll admit that when you said we should celebrate our first year of marriage by reenacting our first meeting, I was skeptical, but this turned out better than expected." He lifts his head and licks lightly at her lips. "Though, I'm glad we just skipped the Presidium and did everything in the privacy of the little courtyard of our hotel room."

She chuckles lightly and nods. "Could you imagine? You're expected back to C-Sec in a week." Her green eyes gaze off as she imagines. "I wonder how many regulations are against using cuffs for that purpose."

He rumbles in mock admonishment and kisses her, letting his tongue tangle with her softly. "Let's not talk about C-Sec," he scolds with a lowered brow plate. "I can think of much more entertaining ways to spend our two days together before the Normandy leaves."

Her eyes brighten at his lowered thrum and she smiles, her flat teeth holding her lip in that look of mischief that always manages to make her look younger – despite the fact that she's stark naked and surrounded by the smells of their shared exertions. "That so, Vakarian?" she purrs and wraps her arms around his neck, stroking softly along the underside of his center crest and making his breath pick up. "Well then, I happen to know this hotel room has a  _very_   _nice_  hot tub. What do you say we try that out next?"

He growls in response and moves to stand, lifting her with her hold around his neck and his hands wrapping around her waist. "Just so long as you're aware our thoughts on water." She smirks, her legs folding over his hips as he carries her, and he runs his tongue along the sensitive span of her neck, making her expression falter with a gasp. "I guess I'll just have to cling to you to keep from going under," he whispers into her ear and smirks at the tightening of her hold.

"I can think of too many reasons for you to  _go under_ ," she whispers back with a quick swipe of her tongue along the inside of his mandible. "But I think we can manage."

_Vakarian._

_Vakarian, wake up._

_Spirits damn it. Wake the hell up, Garrus!_

Garrus jerks awake from sleep at the sound of a distinctly Turian voice and he blinks away the fog of sleep to see a young officer fidgeting at the doorway of their shared office as if unsure whether to enter.

He'd been assigned with Corporal Crux under the guise that the younger man under shadow him in Investigations and learn before taking his own case, but Garrus knew the truth was really an attempt at trying to temper his usual determination to 'go against regulations'. Though young, Crux had a tendency to constantly remind him of when his methods were falling outside usual C-Sec protocol and it grated on his usually calm nerves.

The only thing that kept Garrus from just ignoring the man was the fact that running his cases with another gave him the time to attend his Spectre training almost immediately after his wife had returned to duty a little over a Standard month ago. He sure didn't like coming back to this place after nearly six months working at Jane's side and under the command of someone who wasn't as restricted as C-Sec's face-less protocols, but he at least had a horizon to look to, a 'light at the end of the tunnel' as he mate would say.

Barely clamping down on the sub-harmonic rumble of irritation in his voice, Garrus stands from his chair, giving up hopes on getting back to sleep. "Any reason why you're bothering me during break?" he asks with narrowed eyes. "Or did C-Sec pass some new rule while I was gone that says we can't tend to our natural biological processes?"

Crux crosses his arms over his chest, but actually chirrups an apology in his vocals. "Apologies, but I thought you'd want to know that Brecht is being released-"

"What?!" He walks around his desk with a low growl. "Under whose orders?"

The younger man actually drops his eyes away from his aggravated partner and his arms drop. "Your father ordered he be released." His mandible flutters before quickly snapping back into place. "Our only suspect is going to walk."

"Not if I can help it."

Forgetting his rude awakening earlier and his body completely energized, Garrus pushes past his younger colleague and makes for his father's office, his mandibles tightened against his jaw in both anger and to keep a tight hold on his harmonics. He can't let Brecht go, can't let the man get an opportunity to cover his tracks or hire someone to clean up any trace of his involvement in Garrus' case.

A case that had started with the order to look into instances of missing, middle to lower class human citizens who have suddenly fallen off the radar shortly after docking on the station to possibly look for work under any number of the various companies offering off-shore employment. Once that connection was established, it didn't take long for Garrus and his partner to find discrepancies in the victims' activities that eventually led the detectives to various companies all owned by a single man, William Brecht.

It had turned out that said companies didn't actually exist outside of electronic paperwork – which was shoddy, at best – and that was enough for Garrus to bring Brecht in for questioning. From there, it wasn't long before the pathetic excuse of a man admitted to tricking, kidnapping, and trafficking all the poor souls outside of Citadel space to be traded on Omega to Batarian slavers.

Garrus could care less the man's reasons or trade-off. The only thing that mattered now is making sure the bastard doesn't get the chance to slip through his talons and get a chance to slip into the shadows to disappear. He let that happen with Saleon – and only managed to fix that problem thanks to Jane – and he'd be damned to let it happen here.

He storms into the small room that overlooks the out-processing center, making sure to ignore the sight of Brecht filling out paperwork with a bag of possessions under his arm in order to keep his little bit of control intact, and stops to stare straight into the impassive mask of his father's plates.

"How the hell can you let Brecht go?" Garrus just barely manages to say without the growl that's threatening to burst from his throat. "Do you realize the case we built against him?" A short growl escapes his chest.

His father raises one brow plate, unimpressed by the show of aggression, and crosses his arms behind his back while turning to the window to overlook Out-Processing. "You think you have a case against him once his lawyer catches wind of how you gained his confession? I don't know how  _your Spectre_  did things, but C-Sec gains evidence properly." He turns his head slightly and Garrus sees one stark blue eye glance in his direction. "Or have you completely forgotten how to do things right?"

At that, Garrus growls and walks towards his father, causing the older Turian to turn his attention back to his son. "And you just circumvented my request for action? I barely put the order in less than six hours ago."

His dad waves dismissively. "I removed your request from the systems. You know C-Sec has no control outside of Citadel space, so your request to carry your case into Omega would just waste time and take the place of a legitimate request from another Officer."

Tightening his fists as his sides, Garrus twitches his mandibles in agitation that's slowly starting to push against his efforts of restraint with the older Turian. "So you'll just let this go on… Brecht will go out, lure more people in, and sell them off to slavers." He scoffs and tosses his head, the clear sign of insubordinate disregard actually managing to get narrowed eyes out of his usually emotionless father. "You may be able to live with that, but I won't."

"Remember your place, Garrus." A low thrum of reprimand hits Garrus' ears, yet it doesn't hold as much pull as it once did when he was a child. Perhaps because the younger man is already too angry to fall in line. "If you had done things right, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Brecht would still be under arrest and you'd still have a case. You may not have had your opportunity to place disillusioned hero on Omega, but you'd stop your human trafficking on the Citadel." He drops his hands to his side and two sets of ice-blue eyes lock. "I knew it was a mistake for you to get approval to serve under that Spectre. Not only do you think you can circumvent the rules to fit your agenda like one of them, but apparently you share the human's arrogant view-"

" _Enough_ ," Garrus growls as he steps into his father's personal space, his vocals humming in threat and his mandible shifted lower against his jaw, and the older Turian blinks in confusion before quickly regaining composure. "Insult me all you want, but  _don't_  say a word about her."

His father's face hardens as he stares intently into his son's eyes. A moment of silence passes between the two, not enough for Garrus' vibrating vocals and harmonics to steady, but enough for him to realize the aggressive posture he's taken against his own father and he takes a step back in the most acquiescence he's willing to offer. The older Turian doesn't remark on the remaining cues, instead turning his back in his typical dismissal that Garrus has come to know all too well over his life with the unmoving man.

"Though I can't fault your for actually supporting your commanding officer, which is actually an action I would have never expected from you, you no longer serve under the Spectre while at C-Sec." Garrus drops his gaze to the floor to keep himself from telling the man just how much he'd rather serve on the Normandy, fixing the Mako and all, than here in the endless loop of paperwork. "Perhaps you aren't cut out for this, Garrus. Take the rest of the day. You aren't in a mindset to get anything done."

Garrus clamps his mandibles tight to keep from making the situation worse –  _Jane's smart mouth has really rubbed off on me if I struggle just to hold my tongue_  – and, instead, turns to leave the observatory. With a quick glance at his father's unmoving back, he steps out into the brightly lit hallway and rests his forehead against the cool wall to collect himself.  _No use storming through C-Sec growling like a maniac,_  he admits.

Despite the uncomfortable feeling that the conversation with his father will most likely lead to some very difficult postings from now until the day he finally manages to get out of the force- not to mention the fact that Brecht walked, which he will  _never_  forget – Garrus can't help but think that at least he can use the rest of the day for his training. He certainly needs to calm his nerves with something more engaging than paperwork and, since Jane isn't around to ease that tension, he isn't going to disregard some beneficial violence, even it's mostly simulated target practice or VI sparring.

V.v.V.v.V

His shot echoes in the large room of the shooting range and he doesn't have to retrieve the target or use his visor to enhance the distant image to know his aim is off. Again. Just like every other shot he's taken the past three hours.

He sighs and sets his rifle down, the black metal of its surface gleaming in the bright lights without reflecting back, almost as if absorbing the light. The Widow was a gift from his wife during their hunt for Saren – though, if anyone asked, it was merely a means to give the crew the best weaponry – and he had taken to using it during his Spectre training since there was no restrictions against it. Sure, team exercises called for him to use standard equipment, which wasn't surprising and had never caused much issue for him, but, right now, he was alone and taking full advantage of feeling the weight and the kick of the heavy rifle.

If only he could hit the stupid target today.

The problem isn't even what had happened earlier today, either. Of course he was still angry at his father for releasing Brecht and for talking to him like a damn child, but he's gotten used to that over the years. Losing a suspect still pissed him off, but it never interfered with his work and arguing with his dad was such a usual occurrence that he mostly just lets the older Turian's words slide over his plates now because he has better things to look forward to than approval he's never going to get.

No, something was different. Something he couldn't quite place, yet it made his muscles tense and his mind constantly drift away from his task.  _What the hell is going on?_

He's pulled from his thoughts by the pinging on his Omni-Tool and he looks to it with a confused head tilt, not really knowing who would be messaging him at this time of the day. It's too early in the Normandy's day cycle for Jane to be off duty or in a position where she'd have the privacy to message him, he's already at the Spectre facilities so he wouldn't need electronic hails concerning his training, and he doubts C-Sec would want anything to do with him until tomorrow considering his father all but kicked him out for the remainder of his day.

Pulling the message up onto the interface of his visor to read in case it's private, he quickly reads a hail to report at the human Embassies and make his way to the office of the newly appointed Councilor. Odd, but he doesn't really question it, thinking it probably has to do with the Council wanting more information on the Reaper threat.

_Took them long enough to follow up,_  he thinks as he packs up his rifle. He can't remove it from the Spectre premises due a restriction disallowing him to transport it through the Citadel without the presence of a Spectre, despite the fact that it's coded to his DNA. Though it's strange to find a Spectre like his mate that willingly offers the best weapons to her subordinates – which she did to the entire ship, not just himself – he's sure that someone should take a second consideration of the flawed logic, but he'll settle with keeping the Widow here in the meantime. He still has his modified Mantis, after all.

After packing his things up in his designation station in the Spectre training facilities, he takes a cab to the Presidium. It doesn't take long reach the only place on the entire station that looks as it once did before Sovereign, the Wards still littered with debris and currently undergoing critical repairs in order to become entirely livable again. To Garrus, that isn't much of a surprise to see as it seems that most on the Citadel are too preoccupied with the overall image of what the station represents than its actual ability to function properly or provide homes to  _all_  its residents.

The Embassy is bustling with activity of all kinds, people of every race seeming to rush to some destination as if the Geth were rushing through the relay all over again, and he has to struggle to get through. The crowd clears exponentially once he manages to make it to the doors that lead into the more private offices of the higher officials, their closure at his back successfully cutting off the din of scuffling feet and jumbled voices.

The entrance to the Councilor's office is fenced by two C-Sec officers in the crisp uniforms of the diplomatic guards and Garrus gives a nod as he passes, surprised at the fact that they don't question the seemingly random Turian approaches without prompt as if even they know of his expected arrival. It's certainly strange, knowing that even usual meetings with Councilors are questioned for security purposes, but he lets it go as maybe just the usual strictness is a reflection on the Councilor's preferences themselves and not protocol.

In the office is the human Councilor, Anderson, who Garrus knows was once a superior officer for Jane and remembers as helping them get out of the Citadel lock-down at the possible cost of his position and reputation, and Joker, the Normandy's pilot.

That makes him stop in his tracks. If the pilot is here, then, surely, the Normandy must be docked, but he hadn't heard anything from Jane. Sure, she was known to surprise him, but those instances were always the result of sudden sparks of inspiration as she was never any good at keeping any long term secrets, the excitement and expectation getting the best of her.

He's always had a good idea on how to deduce things from the clues before him, and he usually came to the correct conclusions, but, right now, he doesn't think that ability is quite the boon he once thought. He forces himself  _not_  to jump to conclusions, silently demanding to control himself until someone  _just says something, dammit!_ , and ignores the sudden sharp ache under his keel that promises otherwise.

"Garrus…," Joker says weakly, he hands ringing the hat that Garrus just realizes isn't on his head as usual.

The Councilor, seeming to see the way the pilot can't force his eyes up to the Turian or his lips to continue, steps forward with a weird expression on his face that Garrus can't quite place. "Officer Vakarian. You may want to take a seat."

He motions to a chair before his desk, but Garrus' eyes snap to the standing figures of the two Alliance men and he thinks that no, he'd rather stand when they only confirm what his body is silently urging him is true. He clenches his suddenly numb hands and nods his head in understanding at the new diplomat, dropping his head to try and clamp down on his soon-to-be-telling vocals that are clawing at his chest and throat.

The words of the older man are barely heard, let alone registered, over the loud nothingness in his ears, like he is hearing everything, yet stuck in an isolation chamber at the same time. He doesn't need to hear the tightly kept voice try to maintain composure as he relays the tales with words like  _attacked_  and  _Normandy lost_  and  _didn't make it_  to know what that sick lurching in his gizzard says without real words.

Jane, his wife, his bondmate, his second half, his  _life,_  is gone.

He closes his eyes, his lungs burning as if he can't breathe –  _much like she couldn't_  – and he can't help it - he keens, high and cutting in his own ears, as he grips the sides of his head in his hands. A warm hand lands on his shoulder in unwanted sympathy, but he doesn't shrug it off, doesn't react until a single voice cuts through the haze.

"I should have listened to her… I should have just let the Normandy go and gotten to an escape pod." Garrus' keen cuts off like a knife, but he doesn't look up, hoping for the brittle human's sake that he isn't hearing what he thinks he is.

It's the whispered confession of "She'd be alive if it wasn't for me" from the pilot that has the Turian moving with a speed no one would have expected in full, medium armor, grabbing Joker's shirt in his gloved hands and slamming him against the window of the office with a loud crack. Even his mandibles flick in satisfaction at the loud wail of pain that erupts around the sudden movement of the other occupants in the room to restrain the angered alien.

He waits until the scream dies down enough for the man to hear and he lowers his lip plates closer to the pilot's ear. "You let her die because you were too concerned about your damn ship?" he growls, his voice nearly untranslatable over the erratic harmonics. "Do you know what would happen if you were Turian?"

His instincts are roaring to maim, kill, torture the useless human, only lamenting that the satisfaction would be greatly lessened because he was nothing more than invalid. Why a respectable military would ever let such a pathetic excuse in their midst is pitiful- disgusting- and does nothing to prove humans as the intelligent species they claim. His mate is dead for what? A useless waste of flesh and oxygen to live another day to be coddled by his people?

He growls and moves to slam the broken man against the window, just to see if he can make a louder crack this time, when he hears the whir of a weapon. His attention snapping to the source and sees a pistol pointed in his direction, but cares little for the threat it's trying to pose. His blood is pumping in anticipation of action, listing out all the possible ways to incapacitate those in his way to the little bit of satisfaction, his only way to feed the impossible burning that's coursing through his suddenly numb and empty self.

"Put him down, son," Anderson calmly intones, his face loose and open in attempts to try and get through to the frantic Turian. His grip is firm on his weapon, but he shifts his stance to seem less threatening against the tension that courses off the near-animalistic alien. "She wouldn't want this."

"No she wouldn't" Garrus agrees with a growl, the unusual cadence of his dual voice causing the humans to flinch, though the Councilor manages to keep it to a slight twitch of his eyes. "She would want to live."

With that, Garrus shoves away from the frail pilot, not caring as the man falls to the ground with a whimper and watery eyes. "It should have been you," he says to the worthless waste at his feet before turning to the former Captain.

The man doesn't drop his weapon, moving to stand beside Joker and offering a hand up, but he also doesn't try to stop Garrus when he turns and shoves past the two weary C-Sec officers. He vaguely hears the older human tell them to let him go, but doesn't care to know his reason, the deep ache of nothingness and burning pain starting to overtake the rush of adrenaline to pump through his veins.


	2. Chapter 2

-Garrus-

He doesn't know how much time passes before he finds himself stumbling just at the threshold of their -  _his_  - apartment, managing to catch himself on his knees just before crashing into the hard floor of the entryway. His head is pulsing to his heartbeat with a dulled sensation that does nothing to cover the pain of loss and his left hand is clamped tightly around the neck of a heavy bottle that he can only hope offers some relief, even if it only comes from complete dissociation and haze.

His throat burns with the tell-tale sting of most likely spending his missing hours already doing just that somewhere on the Citadel, but he sees no problem in continuing his failing attempt to drown out the high keen that rings in his own ears or the burning turmoil in his gizzard. Looking at his free hand, he vaguely recognizes he is ungloved, his talons chipped and his knuckles raw and tinged with a swirling mix of colors.

He wipes himself off on his chest plate, leaving a smear of fluids that leaves his attentions as quickly as it had come, and bites off the tight cap of the bottle in his hand, dropping the useless trash to be forgotten on the floor. The lip of the bottle replaces it just in a breath and he tips it to let the burning liquid rush down his throat, swallowing until his lungs burn and scream for air.

He gasps, the sound like wheezes around the low growling keen of pain, and drags himself up off the floor, his mind not clear on his destination, but knowing he doesn't want to sit on the damn floor. He nearly falls again, managing to catch himself against the wall as his talons leave long gashes in the plaster, and he clutches nearly full bottle to his chest like a life-line. With clenched mandibles, he pushes off the wall and forces his heavy feet on, the empty feeling in his chest growing the closer he gets to his destination before he washes it away with another long draw of his drink.

Just like his entry into their -  _his_  - apartment, he stumbles over the threshold of their - _his_  - bedroom, but its cause isn't his level on intoxication as much as it's the gravity of the room, the shifting of the air that sucks the fetid breath from his lungs and makes his blood suddenly run like ice. Their scents -  _her scent_  - hits his tongue and washes the bitterness of drink away, and his gizzard lurches, his throat clenches in dry heaves, as he throws his hands to his temples.

The connection of glass bottle to his plates is completely overcome by the sudden tearing in his chest, the searing burn that runs through his spine and blooms into an inferno under his skull. His right hand presses against his skull as his left tightens hard enough to pull a low crackling from the glass in his grip, but it doesn't help to dull the pain. He growls, he whimpers, he keens, he screams, as reality cuts through his alcohol induced stupor like a knife.

Jane is gone. The only person in this damn galaxy is gone and he wasn't there. He wasn't there to keep the only promise he ever truly  _wanted_  to keep, the only promise that meant more than anything in his pathetic life. He couldn't protect her.

He growls at his selfish neglect, the talons of his free hand scratching down his plates – and how he wishes he hadn't dulled them so they would leave some kind of mark – and he throws the bottle in his hand without any clear target. He doesn't flinch at the crash and tinkling of glass, even letting his mandibles twitch in sadistic satisfaction in the fact that the action brought to light the dull ache in his shoulder – most likely from whatever caused the blood on his knuckles – but his twisted sense of joy is short-lived as he's snapped out of it but a distinctly, un-bottle-like crash.

His head whips towards the sound and his eyes widen at the sight of a black shape lying amongst the broken glass and foul smelly liquor just within the doorway of their -  _his_  - closet. He rushes to the fallen object with a subharmonic mix of an apologetic chirrup and keen before his drunken mind even recognizes the victim of his rage, falling to his knees in an unsteady kneel.

He pulls Jane's guitar into his lap, running his shaking hand over its surface in any attempt to find damage, but it doesn't take long before his palm becomes heavy and his breaths fast against his vocal cries of grief. How he wishes his unyielding body could shed tears, could try to release the pain that presses outwards against his plates in any attempt to escape as it clenches his body in a tight grip of agony. He drops his head to the smooth surface of the instrument and just lets his hot and unsteady breath pant against the lacquer, creating clouds of condensation as it fans across the surface, but it doesn't help to stop the piercing cry in his throat.

Pulling the life-less guitar to his armored chest he holds it close, wishing – demanding – that it isn't true, that maybe just this once, something in his worthless existence hasn't fallen through his fingers like grains of sand. I curses Spirits he doesn't believe in for taking from him the only thing he could ever love and promises to anything that will listen that he would give anything for this day to have been a lie, for her to walk through that door – hell, even message him that she was fine.

But they can't hear him, they never could, because they never really existed. He knows this, like the heated piercing of a bullet straight through his plates, as he releases the guitar, letting it fall to the floor before his knees. The human instrument is just that, an instrument, an object that carries so part of her and one that cannot replace her in his arms. It doesn't even smell like her, instead like wood and the odd cleaner she would wipe over its surface.

He tightens his fists at his sides, his talons biting into the already raw skin of his palms, and his ragged voice bursts out of his chest in a stuttered growl that mixes with his hurt vocals in a way that grates against even his own ears, but he doesn't care to clamp down on himself. What good is it to hide his grief? What good had self-preservation ever been? How many chances had he lost – and will never get back – by keeping himself tightly controlled?

The only time he ever truly felt happy was with her and that solitary truth burns like bile in his throat and makes his heart beat unsteady in silent threat. A threat to follow his bondmate into the void and he can't really see much of a reason not to let it, not to take the initiative to hasten the process. It isn't uncommon for Turian bondmates to follow each other in death when there is nothing to hold them to live, and what else is there for him here without her?

His eyes gaze at the hanging clothes he once wore in a life that once had someone else in it, with a body that had a second soul and a soul that had a second body, and he struggles to keep his mind from just seeing the shreds of cloth as anything but ceremonial robes of corpses. His heart may be beating – for however long  _that_ will last – but he is with her and he can't bring himself to see anything before his eyes as something other than a line in a declaration of possessions of the deceased.

All except for a single shred of white at the far end, nearly pressed against the wall. He recognizes it immediately and drops his head into his hands, wailing high and loud at the memories that flood through the fragile barrier he had created with hours of suspected alcohol and violence. He is up on his feet before he knows it, before he can stop his shattered mind for the better good, and he's stunned at the speed his drunken body makes it to the article of clothing to run the smooth fabric over and through his trembling hands.

 _This was her dress when we were wed,_  he thinks with quaking mandibles and vocals.  _She was absolutely beautiful. She was happy._ I _was happy_.

He groans at the lurch his heart makes, like it's trying to beat its way out of his body in a suicide attempt to free itself from the anguish, and he holds the fabric to his muzzle. His voice is as shaky as his hands as he pulls the dress from its hangar and clutches it to his body to try and speaks nonsense into the white fabric in a futile attempt to call to his mate from beyond. His breaths aren't fluid, short gasps coming in time with heavy whiffs, as he tries to surround himself with the scent of that day as he tries to desperately fool his broken heart and mind.

He collapses against the surface at his knees, falling into the tormenting smells of their shared bed, and he cries out with both vocals until his voice is hoarse, his lungs burning as he nearly hyperventilates to catch air. Her dress is still gripped tightly in his talons and he lays, his knees pulled as far up to his chest at the cumbersome armor will allow, among the pillows and blankets that drown him in an entirely different intoxication. The alcohol seems to finally be hitting his system enough to overpower his inconsolable misery as he begins to drift to a frantic sleep, surrounded by her scent and his useless memories that will never compare to the reality he has lost.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

The pain doesn't get better over the days between losing half of his soul at the posted date of her public funeral – which he is sure is just some stunt to further Jane's image for the Alliance and humanity – and Garrus has taken to not returning to their -  _his_  - home after the bars kick him out for causing a scene or intoxication. He can't take the constant onslaught of memories that break through his meticulously created drunken haze the second he steps through the threshold or the dreams her scent brings to his disjointed sleep.

Any C-Sec agents seem to give him a wide birth, possibly due to his unmasked vocals quickly explaining more than any words would, and he usually finds some new place to black out for a few hours before starting all over again. It's a curtesy he neither wants nor needs, but he'll accept the fact that it limits his interactions with anyone that doesn't consist of ordering a refill from the bartender so he'll just ignore the knowing looks from the Turians he once called co-workers.

It's in some bar he doesn't remember the name of that a familiar group of aliens approach the dark corner he has tried to claim as the location of today's attempt to see if he can succumb to alcohol poisoning. He growls as the shapes take a more recognizable form into his former squadmates -  _her_ squadmates – and he tightens the hold on his glass as he glares up at all of the colors of eyes in a mix of pity, sympathy, and even disapproval.

"Don't you have a funeral to go to?" he barely gets in a raspy, underused voice that he barely recognizes as his own and makes a few of the younger intruders wince.

"We were," the former Gunnery Chief says sternly, her arms crossing over her chest. "But we thought you'd like to attend, seeing as how she was  _your_ commander just as much as she was ours."

He isn't moved by the clear distaste in the woman's expression and voice, knowing Williams may have only tolerated him for the sake of their shared mission and not really because of any real comradery, and his answer is to only finish his glass in a single pull, his eyes never leaving hers. She scoffs in short-fought defeat, remarks something about proper respects, and doesn't hesitate to leave the Turian to soak in his sorrow, her hand griping the Lieutenant that seems lost in his grief – which Garrus is much too drunk to stand and question at the moment.

 _She might be the easiest to get off my back,_  he admits with a mandible flick and questions if the blatant racism didn't just come in his favor. He looks to the others expectantly, his eyes clearly stating that they should either hurry up and spit out their meaningless pleas or get the hell out of his space and let him continue his drink alone.

"Garrus, don't you want some peace? It's supposed to be a way to say goodbye, of closure." Tali's hands are clasping and unclasping before her and her breathes are light in what he's sure is half-managed tears, but even the young Quarian he has come to admit as seeing as a sister-figure doesn't seem to cut through his mood.

He sighs, trying to calm his growl enough so that his voice isn't as harsh as the disuse is already making it. "No," he says flatly, "I don't want to go. They aren't honoring her as a person, they're honoring a symbol." Tali drops her head and he waves for another drink from the bar across the way and continues. "It's dishonorable to use her as a means to an end. They did it when she was alive and I won't be a part of it now." He stops himself from saying too much, his vocals already shaking and starting to whine and he doesn't care to see the knowing looks of pity in their eyes.

"But Garrus-"

"No," he snaps and she flinches at the discordant mix of high keen and low growl. "Turians don't mourn over a body – or lack there-of. I will not go to the Alliance's funeral." His voice lowers to just above a whisper, the short-lived fire in his belly dissipating back into that emptiness. "I don't need some political ploy to mourn my wife." The young girl seems to accept that, which is fine because he's tired of explaining himself, and steps back for the waitress to hand over his whatever numbered drink.

Liara, however, has at least one more thing to try and he subtly clenches his grip on his glass to still himself from losing his already shaky temper on the woman. Seeming to see this reaction, she holds up her hands in placation. "I won't try to convince you," she offers with a wavering smile, her lips trembling with the pain that shines in her blue eyes. "I just want to offer something that may ease your pain."

He raises a brow, not really expecting that but still not to the point of caring what the Asari has to say, and she drops her eyes to the ground with her hands moving behind her back. "When I had melded with Shepard," she offers, "she had given me something that was not mine to possess." She lifts her eyes up and smiles weakly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "It was for you."

He blinks at that, the glass in his grip stopping half-way to his lips, and he narrows his eyes at the young Asari. He remembers Jane telling him once of the way the two had come up with a solution to the melding of minds back on their mission so that she didn't feel like her thoughts were being invaded, but even she didn't actually know if the Asari had managed to see anything. She had said that the woman told her to 'think of something pleasant' as a cue to withdraw, and the concept of something pleasant added to the fact that their relationship had become known to the doctor can only led in one direction.

"No," he says, startling T'Soni in the middle of saying something that just sounded like static in his ears. "I don't want it. As you can see," he raises his glass and slouches the liquid around to prove his point, "I am trying to _forget_." She drops her eyes to the floor, her shoulders sagging in defeat, and he takes a victory drink that only burns his near-constant raw throat.

"Leave him," Wrex grunts out, standing between the group and the table. "The man doesn't need you telling him out to grieve." The Krogan glances over and Garrus nods in silent appreciation for the only person who seems to see what he really wants. "Now go. Or you'll miss it."

The few remaining stranglers don't put up much fight, between their weakened states from their sadness to his large size, as he herds them away. As Garrus' eyes drop to his glass to glare at the dark liquid that hasn't yet managed to help him to forget as he has been wanting in the days he's been living on it, a loud slam vibrates the surface of the dingy table under his table and sends ripples through his drink.

He growls low in his throat in warning, but doesn't look up in hopes his visitor will get the threatening message and leave him. The sensation of someone in his space doesn't dissipate, so he is left with no choice but to turn his glare upwards, and into the bright red gaze of the Krogan he just thought left.

 _I'm starting to decidedly lose my respect for this annoying menace_ , he thinks as he can't help but lower his head and lets his mandible's flare in silent warning that his patience is growing thin.  _Why can't they just leave me to my guilt?_

"Easy, boy," Wrex says which a tone in his voice that actually sounds like sympathy. His eyes drop away from Garrus' stunned expression, the drastic change he never expected from the older man cutting some of his intoxicated haze away, and hands over a credit chit. "Krogan share grief over Ryncol. But you aren't Krogan and you don't want to share  _anything_ , so take this and drown your sorrows." Garrus takes the offered chit. "Just don't expect it to work. It's never that easy."

He doesn't stay to let Garrus come up with a remark, his responses still dulled from drink, and the Turian is left to watch the retreating back of the one person since pain and loss took residence under his plates to ever just accept his reasoning and leave him to his suffering. Clutching the chit in his hand, he downs his glass and calls over the waitress so he can begin to see just what kind of allowance the old Krogan has left him. He claims that the burn of alcohol won't numb the pain, but Garrus isn't yet willing to take the man's claim without his own field-testing and he might as well start now while the galaxy seems adamant to bury his wife in a symbolic grave.


	3. Chapter 3

-Garrus-

"And tonight we take a moment of silence to honor the late Commander Shepard," the vidscreen above the bar says in a feminine voice that Garrus is too drunk to place, the image nothing but a shifting blur over the bartender's shoulder. "Who's most notable accomplishment was the defeat of rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius, and his Geth when he launched an attack on the Council-"

"Turn it off," he snaps, the grip on his glass tightening slightly. To his credit, the bartender simply shrugs, long since used to the rapid fluctuations in his harmonics across the spectrum of emotions, and switches it to something that sounds vaguely like some sports broadcast. He slides another glass in Garrus' direction, the amount on Wrex's chit finally running to it limits after the entire day, before moving on to more coherent patrons and he's fine with it because he never really cared for the obvious pity in the man's eyes or feeling of silent criticism.

He downs his glass, the liquid no longer burning against his numb throat after his nearly week-long attempts to find solace at the bottle of the bottle, before slamming it back to the surface of the bar. Pulling the left behind glass closer, he doesn't notice his elbow hitting one of the previously discarded glasses or have a chance to really care as it topples over the edge of the bar – and wouldn't have had the coordination to try and catch it anyways.

Instead, he hears the clink of it being replaced on the counter – further from his person and less likely to fall again – in time with his first swallow of dark, no longer strong, liquor. He refuses to acknowledge the new arrival as the man takes a seat beside him, hoping the unbidden companion will take the low rumble of disapproval as a hint and leave. Instead, the silver – nearly white – Turian in elegant, floor length clothing Garrus has usually only seen at home on Palaven and in the higher classes ignores the vocal protest and motions the bartender over.

"A glass of Cipritine  _Nulli_ ," the unrecognizable visitor orders. "And a second for Palaven," he adds with a side-ways glance towards Garrus, who narrows his eyes in suspicion. The man looks familiar, with his bare facial plates and long lateral crests, but he can't place it with anyone through the fog in his head. The only thing keeping his drunken mind from automatically seeing the impassive face before him as the former Spectre and reacting accordingly – aside from the fact that he's in no position to perform any fast movements to restrain him without tossing his last dozen drinks – is the golden rings through the prongs of his mandibles and the matching golden orbs set against the darkened hide of his eye sockets.

" _Nulli secundus_ ," the bartender says with an air of reverence as he pours the two glasses of deep amber-red liquid. "Don't get too many people ordering one of the finest drinks to come out of Palaven." He hands a glass over to the Turian Garrus still can't place – doesn't care to place and only really accepts since he's apparently buying him a drink – and the straight-backed man hums in acknowledgment, but doesn't over any response. "I'm happy to say that we carry it. In fact, I believe Parallaxis is the only bar here on the Citadel that offers it."

Garrus grunts at the unneeded explanation from the server and he takes the glass, but isn't intoxicated enough to ignore the fact that this stranger has just bought a glass of one of the most expensive liquors around for him. He stares at the swirling liquid as the bartender is dismissed by his companion with a slight wave of his hand in silent assurance that his services are no longer needed, the rings in his mandibles making a light twinkling of noise as he takes a sip from his own glass.

"Have you ever had the chance to try it?" The rolling voice snaps his head up and he stares into golden eyes. "I believe that every blue blooded Turian should know the taste, if only for a signal glass."

It's the lack of any telling emotion in the man's features, his plates blank and entirely devoid of anything despite the fact that Garrus isn't even trying to control his own harmonics from rising and falling all over the place. Sure, he doubts such a man that holds himself as stately as his visitor does would remark on such a fantastic failure at Turian control, but, even then, he wouldn't think his visitor would remain within hearing range of it. Even the bartender tries to limit his time around the mourning and completely hysterical patron in his otherwise extravagant bar.

The confusion only happens to frustrate him and only make his alcohol addled mind hurt.  _I drink to stop the pain, damn it._  "Look," he manages to get out. "I don't know what this is." He holds his glass up. "But I don't want charity or whatever the hell you're offering and I sure as hell don't want to know what you expect in return."

"I would have expected a word of thanks." The paler male says with a twitch to a single brow plate, the fast movement barely registering in Garrus' slowed mind, and waves the tip of a talon upwards in the air between them in silent command. "However, given the amount of alcohol you have seemed to consumed in the short time I have been here, I will take the acknowledgement."

Garrus flicks a mandible in scrutiny, but falls under the golden stare, taking a single sip. The taste is strong and flows smoothly over his tongue to slide down his throat. He's sure if his mind wasn't half way gone in whatever darkness that holds his grief, he would able to say something about the flavors and crispness of such a refined beverage. As it is, his mind simply commands he down the rest of the glass, pulling a disapproving grunt from his companion.

He slams down the glass, his mandibles flickering and his chest clenching painfully in protest to drinking  _another_  glassful of liquor on an empty stomach, and he has to close his eyes against the fact that each acknowledgment of pain just brings back the memories of why he's doing this in the first place. He holds his pounding head in his free hand, his breaths in pants that echo with his low, growling keen, and ignores the warmth at his side that still hasn't seemed to taken the hint.

"What do you want from me?" he pleads to the annoying menace, his will collapsing under the returning emptiness under his keel. "Can't you just leave me alone to my grief?"

His puts his glass down on the counter with a soft clink, takes a deep inhale, and turns his head to look straight into the weakened silver-blues of the fallen C-Sec. "I am not one to stand aside and watch potential waste away in failed efforts of absolution."

Garrus snorts at that and holds one of the glasses on the counter to see if any liquid has happened to pool at the bottom. "That didn't work for those who knew me. What makes you think some stranger is going to convince me?"

"I am not here with intentions of making you believe your choice is incorrect." Garrus raises a brow plate at that before narrowing his eyes in silent order to spit it out while the older man still has a chance to be heard. "I simply offer insight of another way to go about joining your mate that do not involve massive amounts of inebriation."

Garrus flicks a mandible in exasperation and sighs. "Oh, enlighten me." He leans his weight against the counter with and scowls at the hazy reflection of himself that's casted back between from between his forearms, a weak exhale passing from quivering lungs. "What does it even matter? I wasn't there when it counted."

The man lets Garrus gaze into the image of his own pain for a moment as he savors a sip from his glass before speaking. "Do not waste time contemplating the nuances of what could have been had the situation been different." He pointedly ignores the rumble of displeasure that Garrus voices at his perceived flippancy. "Instead, use your energy doing something worthy of someone capable of provoking such a reaction."

Groaning, Garrus' head falls into his hands as a low keen vibrates his chest. "I can't… I tried to be a better man for her, or at least I  _thought_  that's what I was doing, but I can't help think that it was all just for my own selfish needs. I wanted to become a Spectre because I thought I'd be able to be of more use than some failed cop, but now I know it was just because I wanted to be her equal. Because I was too ashamed to know that others thought I was just her subordinate." He takes a stuttered breath, closing his eyes. "And what did it cost me? What did it cost  _her_?" He lifts his head and finds himself staring directly into golden eyes shining brighter that the rings framing the man's mouth. "How can I do anything worthy of her if I don't even know anything that would ever compare?"

Without breaking eye contact, the paler Turian lays his glass on the counter top and turns to fully address his younger companion. "By fighting."

"I don't know how to do that," Garrus admits with a rumble of confusion vibrating his chest, but he doesn't let his gaze drop. For some reason, this is the first person since his reality shattered that he's been able to keep eye contact with for any amount of time. "Everywhere I turn, I end up running into endless obstacles."

"Then pave your own path. Find a course of action that will grant you the death worthy of even the best of our people. An honorable death to absolve you of the failures you claim upon your spirit." He cuts the attention for a moment to grab his glass and an empty one, pouring a finger's width into the free glass before offering it over. "Is that not what you are seeking at the bottom of each glass?"

Garrus pauses, his eyes falling to the dark liquid in the glass. Though he's never completely admitted it to himself , either aloud or internally, he  _is_  trying to join Jane in any way he could imagine – that mostly being seeing how much stinging alcohol he can shove down his gullet before he succumbs to poisoning. Would it not be preferable to use the emptiness in his chest, the pain that pumps through his blood, as fuel to do something good before finding a way to her? Isn't there a saying 'leave the world a better place than you came in'?

Though he has no qualms about ending his life in any way possible, but he can't deny the appealing sound of using his last breaths to try and emulate her as best he can. It may never make up for failing to be there for her in the first place, but perhaps it could grant him some sense of peace against the guilt that invades even his drunken slumber.

Flicking a mandible in agreement, he raises his glass to the older male in silent toast before mirroring him in downing the last of their drinks. Laying his glass down on the counter, Garrus turns to golden eyes. "I can't say I completely understand why you all but butted into my life, but, for whatever it's worth, thank you. I will do something to be proud of."

A silvery-white brow plate lifts in interest and a mandible twitches, releasing a near-silent tinkle of noise from the golden ring shifting. "Oh?"

Garrus smirks, the movement still sluggish thanks to the numerous liters of liquor in his system. "Starting by fixing my most recent failure." The man nods in silent assurance that he's listening. "I'm going to find Brecht and then I'm going to follow his supply chain to Omega." Garrus doesn't really care that this man probably doesn't even  _know_  who the hell he's talking about or what the hell Omega has to do with anything, too occupied with the plan starting to take shape in his head. "It's a perfect place to 'go down fighting' – as she would say. It won't be hard to find criminals. All I'll have to do is point, and pull the trigger."

Garrus shifts and stands on wobbly legs, leaning against the counter to fight the spinning of the room at the movement. Golden eyes scan over his form, scrutinizing before rumbling barely in amusement, though the sound lacks most mirth – something Garrus has noticed from many Turians who tend to force control of their vocals but still try to come across as personable. "Might want to find something to counteract the alcohol before attempting to fulfill your plan."

"Stims will work." Garrus shakes his head to try and clear it some more. "I can't give Brecht any more time to leave the Citadel, he's already had almost a week."

With a hum of acknowledgement, the older male removes a small vial from a hidden pocket in his long, navy robes and offers it. Garrus blinks in disbelief at the sudden availability of said stimulants, but, then again, it isn't necessarily illegal to carry some drugs on the Citadel and his own people don't really see any problem with usage if it doesn't affect the user's capability to perform their duties. Frankly, it's also not that surprising that a man who is clearly unashamed to walk around without colony paints would also be unashamed to be carrying something that could only be seen as something no more illegal than a highly concentrated energy supplement – if Garrus doesn't look to hard into whether or not the vial fits C-Sec regulations that he's too intoxicated to remember.

"Should I bother with asking exactly what that is?" he asks, but takes the offered drug. He's already planning to break the law in searching out Brecht, so he doesn't have many options to combat the heavy dose of liquor coursing through his veins. Besides, he's sober enough to remember that no legal drug is going to be able to cut through the numbness and haze, so perhaps he's really  _out_  of options.

"Probably not." The admission is low with the sound of ringing from the bands that glisten from white mandibles.

"And why should I suddenly trust that this isn't going to kill me?"

The man takes a deep breath, as if giving Garrus a chance to think about that question before flicking a mandible lightly in probably the biggest reaction he revealed since sitting himself at the bar and inserting himself into the younger man's life. "Why would I waste the credits to purchase you a glass of  _Nulli_  and spend the time to speak with you if I was going offer you a tainted stimulant?"

"Why help me at all?" He shakes his head and immediately regrets it as it makes the headache flare to life underneath his plates. "People don't just suddenly take interest."

"I would be foolish to stand by and let the most prominent Turian at the moment wither away under a flood of inexpensive alcohol. I have never appreciated the waste for potential, no matter the circumstances." The man shifts in his seat to face forward, intentionally stating with his body language that he no longer intends to carry on the conversation. "Take it as a parting gift to make sure that you can accomplish what you are setting out to do. Seeing as how I have taken interest in your success, it would be unfortunate for your fears of losing this Brecht because you must wait for your body to flush out the toxins." Golden eyes glance over a shoulder with final parting words. "And believe me, I would not carry substandard stimulants, though their strength does run risk of addiction, so use them sparingly."

The man returns his attentions back towards the bar, motioning fluidly for the bartender and subsequently cutting off any following remarks Garrus could come up with. It's all the same, though, as he's sure he no longer needs or wants anything from the stranger, tightening his hold on the vial in his hand as he makes his way out of the bar and towards the first destination in his new path at attempting redemption.

The ache is still there, still twisting against his lungs and making his heart feel like it's held in a Krogan's fist, but he feels a wall forming, closing around the pain and leaving only the hollow feeling behind. He doesn't mind, though, because he doesn't need the pain to remind him of his reasons, of his loss. He needs the disassociation that the emptiness has granted him during his long days wallowing in self-pity, drowning his sorrows, for what he plans for Brecht and, subsequently, Omega.

 _I can't bring her back,_  he admits with a deep sigh as he gets into a transit,  _but I can make things right. Do something she'd be proud of – something_ I'd  _be proud of._  He sets his destination and sits back in his seat, holding out the vial to roll over his palm.

He knows that the Citadel holds nothing for him now that Jane is gone, their old home filled with memories of a past he can never have and scents that only work at his already shattered sanity. He also knows, even though he despises having to admit it, that he can't carry on in her name on a professional level. His desire to become a Spectre has all but been demolished after losing her and he isn't too out of reality not to hear how many are whispering to the contrary of everything she had fought hard to make others understand.

The Reapers are merely the mutterings of a madman – and now madwoman, though the cowards haven't yet said it aloud – and any mention is scrubbed from public view. It's an ignorant view that the Council is taking and the sheer thought leaves a slick feeling in his throat that even the cheapest of liquors couldn't produce. If he were to become a Spectre, to gain the courage to maintain his pursuit despite his lack of will, he knows his agreement with Jane's claims would never be accepted and he may have eventually turned into the same news stories as his own love.

He growls and balls his hands into fists, barely remembering the vial before it shatters in his hands. The very thought that so many are dragging his wife's name through the dirt when it hasn't even been a week makes his blood boil, his pain transform into utter rage, and it's just another reason – maybe the  _only_  reason if he really considers it – that he wants to get off of this station.

If he never sees this shiny, metallic excuse for false security and ignorant arrogance ever again, it'll be too soon. He will gladly die in the darkest, dirtiest corner of Omega in order to never set foot on the place his heart died for, only to have her name discredited and warnings ignored.

 _And I won't have to stay here much longer once I get what I need from Brecht,_  he muses with a rumble as he takes the vial and holds it up into the light of the transit's cab to examine it. It seems like a typical injection vial, where a twist will release the needle from the inner shell, and the viscous, reddish-black liquid looks much like a stimulant used to give the user heightened senses.

From what all his observations tell him added to the vague knowledge from C-Sec on current drugs, it'll definitely work to battle the effects of the alcohol in his system. He figures the high is much better than the low he's battling, so he finds the slight lip at one end with a forefinger and thumb and rotates. With a small pop and crackle, a thin needle slides from the center of the vial and he can't help but admire it's size - extremely thin considering the thickness of the drug, but long enough to fit into even the smallest of gaps in plating.

He feels the cab begin to slow as it approaches its destination, the less used entrance into C-Sec due to the current rebuilding efforts, where he plans on grabbing some weapons before getting into the system to download all of Brecht's facilities. With any luck, it hasn't been long enough for the higher ups to have denied him access under intentions of firing him due to lack of attendance and Brecht wouldn't have had enough time yet to completely empty his stores of evidence to his current whereabouts.

With his time growing short, he shrugs away any last minute indecision and takes the syringe to the thinner hide of his neck, the proximity to his jugular his best shot at getting the drug into his system in the fastest way possible. The needle slides into his flesh effortlessly and the vial's automatic injection system surges the thick fluid into his bloodstream in an instant, pulling a sharp hiss from his throat.

He waits until the needle retracts back into the vial before pulling it away, his breaths deep as he feels his heartbeat start to speed up. He puts the vial in a pouch of his armor to be disposed of later and steps out of the transit when it sets down, his mind already playing through his plan for when he finds Brecht and any possible alternatives he will need. He already lost the man once and will not lose him again, at least not before getting the name of his contact off station. If he gets that and Brecht manages to get away, then at least he will have a lead that's more deserving of the justice he plans to enact.


	4. Chapter 4

-Garrus-

The warehouse area of Zakera Ward was dark, whether because of the damage or to help simulate manageable work hours for employees Garrus doesn't care to reason, and he easily blends into the shadows in his ebony armor from his time on the Normandy. Even the red undersuit was left behind at the Spectre offices, exchanged for the solid black of his C-Sec set, and the Spectre issued weapons strapped to his back and hip seem to aid his predicament, seeming to suck the light into their metal frames instead of shining it back.

It didn't take much digging into case files to find the location of Brecht's biggest warehouse, also the one most likely to incriminate him, and Garrus wasted no time in moving on his target, his blood pumping not only from the drugs in full force in his system but also the knowledge that sources haven't yet seen Brecht move to cover his tracks. He would have never guessed that the fat bastard's arrogance over his release from custody would have made him so clumsy and slow, but it would definitely make his job easier.

Climbing up the side ladder of the warehouse – taking the guise of some moving company, as if in a sick jest – brings Garrus to an outer catwalk along the northern end of the building and he easily finds a window that was most likely blown out from the station-wide destruction over a month ago. The makeshift barricade against scavengers easily shifts aside when he presses against it and his sensitive ears pick up on noise within the building even through the thick material of his helmet. It sounds like movement, and frantic movement at that, and he pokes his head in to get a better view of the area, his eyes easily adjusting to the darkened facility.

The lower floor seems usual for any warehouse of its previous claim of mere transportation of goods with large containers and equally large machinery to manage the loading and unloading onto whatever vehicles may make their way through the large bay doors at the far end. He doesn't want to imagine what those crates are truly used for considering Brecht's occupation and his mandibles flick with a light clack against his helmet in effort to keep his head clear. He doesn't need to waste this chance with getting unnecessarily angry. At least not until he has Brecht in his hands because, then, he can use his upset at getting information from the man.

His attention draws to a room, the only area of the warehouse that's lit, across the way from his location and set to overlook the warehouse floor. It is covered in large windows – currently with blinds drawn closed – on all sides not against the far wall and he doesn't need to read the plague on the door to know it'll be where his target is. As if on cue, he sees a shadowed figure scramble across the blinds and recognizes the shape – like a tall and slightly less clumsy Volus – as Brecht, making his fist tighten around the edge of the obstacle in his way in anticipation.

Emitting a low growl, he wedges the plank of plastic sheeting in order to give himself the needed room before pulling himself through the gap and onto the metal walkway on the other side. Keeping his back close to the wall and his body low in case the blinds of the office are more opaque for the interior viewer, he closes in on the din of crashing cabinets. The noise only works to his advantage as his approach goes unnoticed and he doesn't need to drag his pace to a crawl, coming upon the door and taking cover at its left, because he knows the human's hearing isn't nearly as good as his own and he can't even hear his own boots against the grating.

Taking a breath to calm his rushing adrenaline, Garrus tilts his head towards the room at his back and listens, cataloguing the situation from what his heightened senses are telling him. He hears the heavy footsteps against the ground like a Krogan stomping through on a blood-rage, the heavy breathing like a Volus' respirator, and he smells the heavy musk of sweat he's come to recognize as human, but it carries a stronger smell of waste than even the filthiest members of the Normandy. What makes his mandibles flick in satisfaction, though, is his ability to pick out the familiar scent of the man he arrested not one week ago. He's sure he wouldn't have been able to pick up on the scent if not for the stimulants in his system, the drug easily overcoming his earlier lethargy from his previous attempts at pain-management.

Definite that the man is alone, and clearly occupied with trying to destroy his former office, Garrus presses the door forward and sideways, bypassing the automated sensor with the pressure against its hydraulics and allowing him a type of manual control. The door slides open under his hands enough to let him get a visual, which only confirms his suspicions that his arrival hasn't even been noticed, and he releases his weight from the door, letting it slide open on its own with a swish as he draws his pistol.

Yet, the man doesn't respond, still too absorbed in covering any incriminating evidence through destruction to hear the automated door's entry or the whirring click of Garrus' weapon. Clicking in annoyance, Garrus steps into the office and closes the distance between himself and Brecht, nearly laughing when the human doesn't notice his visitor until the Turian is less than a meter from him. Stepping back with a heavy pant, the heavy-set man bumps his back into the hard metal of Garrus' armor, and he barely has enough time to gasp in confused shock before a heavy, black pistol slams down against the back of his skull, knocking him out cold.

As his body crumbles to the ground, Garrus is left missing that satisfaction of the take-down, this human not much of a challenge, but he shakes it off with a growl of disapproval as he holsters his pistol back to his hip. He didn't outright shoot the man because he needed information, information that most likely won't come without a little bit of persuasion, and he has a good idea that those crates down stairs are perfect for their 'conversation'.

He isn't going to pull out his back carrying the heavy human – he still doesn't understand how a human can even  _be_  this shape – so he grabs Brecht under his arms, thankful he has gloves against whatever is causing that horrid smell to litter the air from the shift in position, and drags him unceremoniously out of the office. Pulling him across the catwalk towards the lower level, he stops at the stairs and moves position, grabbing his legs instead so he won't be in a precarious position going down the stairs.

The low thumps and groans of the human's head hitting each step bring an amused flicker to his mandibles and it doesn't take long before he starts to feel what little strength the human has come back into his limbs in the Turian's hands as he slowly regains consciousness. It's all the same to Garrus as he finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, his hold not even coming close to breaking under the weak attempts of the man below him, because it just means that they can get started sooner. He strolls over towards the nearest container, its lack of markings along its surface drawing his attention and suspicions, and he lets one of the man's legs go to check its entrance panel.

It doesn't seem normal to the few others he's seen in C-Sec, and a few taps against its commands confirm that it is, indeed, something not in Citadel jurisdiction but instead from the Terminus. A whimper draws his attention back to the smelly being at his feet and his dark helmet turns towards his captive who's just barely starting to realize the situation he's waking to.

"Please, don't hurt me." Brecht says around slightly red teeth, obviously having bitten something on the way down to this level. "I'll give you whatever you want."

"I know you are," Garrus answers, his voice flat and without emotion. "Do you know this container isn't sanctioned to be on this station?"

Eyes a color that reminds him of the damp skies of Feros widen and the man's thick neck jiggles sickly as he shuffles to a sitting position. "You…you're here to tell me  _that_?! Who the hell are you?!"

Faster than Brecht can react or even register, Garrus grabs the man by the back of his head and slams his face against the cold metal of the container, pulling a loud crack followed by a screeching-scream of pain from a now bleeding face. He cuts the scream off short, not wanting anyone who may happen to be in the area to hear them before he can get what he wants, by tilting the man's head back, cutting off his air supply.

Sputtering for breath, Brecht gets the point without words – either scream or breathe – and he gives a nod in pleading understanding, his eyes starting to tear. Lessening the angle, Garrus points the man's face towards the access panel with a single order. "Open it."

"I don't have the-" he tries to plead, but is cut off with a threatening tilt back towards the hard surface and his breath speeds up, nearly causing him to hyperventilate, as his eyes widen at the red smear centimeters from his face. "No! No! I'll open it! I swear!"

Garrus pulls him away and lets the man hover his hand over the panel, his Omni-Tool flickering to life before the door of the crate shifts slightly. Wedging his hand into the gap created, he shoves the door open enough to drag the now-struggling human inside and tossing him unceremoniously against the opposite side.

The container is small and he must hunch over to make it inside, but he doesn't see it being a problem as he'll most likely need to be crouching because he doesn't see the coward managing to stand on his feet anytime soon. The air is heavy and still with the smells that grant him the appalling assurance that, yes, it was as he suspected, this crate and the others like it were being used as transportation for captives off of the station. Eyeing a panel within the walls much like the one on the outer wall, he scowls at the fact that it's an inner release in case someone  _not a potential slave_  found themselves locked within. At that, he turns to look straight at the slack jawed, quivering human just within the band of light from the outside and pulls the door closed, locking the two in the deafening darkness.

His eyes adjust quickly – and if they couldn't, his visor would have that covered – and he relishes the panicked breathing of his target as the man tosses his head this way and that as he tries to scramble to his feet and catch sight of his assailant. Surprisingly, Brecht doesn't scream, doesn't shout for help, but Garrus figures that it's probably because the man knows it would just be a waste of energy. These slave transports  _are_  built to be soundproof after all and any efforts would most likely just bounce back to deafen the occupants.

"What the fuck do you want, Turian!" His face points towards where Garrus last was, but the plated shadow has already moved aside and closer upon his left, his movements as silent as any natural predator. "What the fuck is your problem! I ain't done nothing to you!"

"Perhaps." He grabs the man's wrist, twisting it behind his fat back while kicking his foot back, and slams his target to the ground. "But we're still going to have a little talk." He twists the arm higher, pulling a gasp and curse in pain. "And your answers dictate my response."

With that, he jerks Brecht's wrist down and slams his free palm against his elbow, snapping it like a twig. The man screams and Garrus smells the new scent of urine in the air, fresh and definitely from the man in his hold. He flicks a distasteful mandible, thinking,  _I've just started and he's already showing signs of submission. Pathetic._

As the screams begin to die down, he leans to the human's ear, releasing his wrist to jerk his head back and cut off his air so that he can be heard. "What is the name of your buyer on Omega?" Dropping the man's head to suck in gasps around his whimpers, he watches shoulders hitch a moment before losing his patience and grabbing the already injured hand, taking a finger between his talons in silent threat.

"Wait!" Brecht shouts, trying to tug the hand from Garrus' hold. "Wait just a fucking minute! I don't know nobody on Omega, you fucking asshole!"

"Wrong," he answers coldly and snaps the finger, bringing it backwards and nearly against the back of the man's hand. He lets the screams echo through the container, his helmet blocking out the noise so that he doesn't go deaf, and takes the second finger before asking again. "What is the name of your buyer on Omega?"

He has to hand it to the man, either he's too stupid or whoever he's working for scares him more than the armored Turian, because he merely spits in Garrus' general direction. "Fuck you, you fucking cuttlebone freak," he grits out.

Internally sighing at the useless stubbornness, he breaks the finger in his grip, accepting the resulting scream as reprimand enough for the 'cuttlebone' remark. "What is the name of your buyer on Omega?" He certainly hopes the main will grow a brain soon, the novelty of breaking fingers is wearing off quickly.

"Kron!" Brecht stammers as talons grasp at the third finger on his hand. "His name is Kron!" Garrus snaps the third finger, making the man scream and nearly black out. "I fucking swear! Oh God, what do you want from me!"

Garrus leans closer to the man's face, the cold metal of his helmet presses against the slick temple, and a mandible twitches when the broken man tries to presses against the chill to battle the pain. He lets Brecht search for the little bit of comfort before grabbing the last intact finger on that hand and orders, "Last name."

"Harga," Brecht sobs, his free hand gripping the talons around his finger in silent plea. "Please, it's the truth."

"We'll see," is the only response, followed by the snap of bone, before the man passes out from pain. Seeing as how it's useless to continue while he won't get any information, Garrus lets the man's broken hand go before pulling out a Medi-Gel pack from his armor and examining it.

It doesn't take much to find the separate section of the pack that contains the adrenaline compound and he pulls out the knife from his boot to cut away what he won't need, returning the antiseptic and narcotic back into his pouch. He slaps the remaining pack against the sweaty flesh that rolls around Brecht's neck and waits a moment for it to kick it, slapping the man's face to wake him the rest of the way once he sees his eyelids flicker.

The man awakes with a gasp and his head jerks in sudden remembrance of his situation, but he can't scramble away before Garrus overpowers him, tossing him back down. Grabbing the human's currently uninjured arm, Garrus holds his wrist up and lays his palm against the joint of his elbow. "Who buys the humans you traffic out of the Citadel?"

"Are you serious?" he asks, delirious. "I just told-" A crack and the man screams as Garrus snaps the elbow against the joint.

"Who buys the humans you traffic out of the Citadel?" He asks again as he takes the unbroken index finger of this hand in his grip.

"I told you! Kron Harga!" Tears fall down sweaty cheeks. "I don't know what more you want! Please!"

Garrus wants to makes sure the information is correct, that the name isn't just some random title off the top of Brecht's head, that the smelly, fat bastard isn't letting his fear speak lies. "Who buys the humans traffic for slavery?" He waits a moment to see the realization in the man's eyes before snapping the finger.

"Kron Harga," he whimpers, his voice coarse from screaming, and passes out again.

Instead of doses him with more adrenaline, Garrus lets the man sit while he searches his Omni-Tool for anything that may link what he's saying to truth. It isn't like he doesn't believe him, after all, it's hard to maintain a lie after repeated questions, but he'd rather have as much information as he can get before the weak body at his feet no longer wakes up from the pain. Plus, this crouching is getting to his back and he'd much rather be on his way off this damn station.

When the man awakes ten minutes later, he doesn't even bother to try and pull out of the stronger Turian's grip and simply whimpers in anticipation. Unmoved -  _how many whimpered and pleaded to be released when you sold them like things, Brecht? It is not 'karma', as your people would say_  - Garrus stares through the dark pane of his helmet as he waits for Brecht to regain complete consciousness.

Seeing the awareness finally leak into the dirty green-brown eyes of his target, he puts threatening pressure against the next finger in his hands, getting attentions back on the task at hand. "Now that we have your buyer down, it's time you tell me your contacting protocol."

"I send him a message," he cries. "It's the same message each time. 'I can't wait to hit Afterlife, see if I can find me some sweet Asari blue.' He always responds with a location to meet."

With a flick of his mandible, he breaks the finger and repeats the question, getting the same answer. He's seen the messages and knew what they could have meant, but it doesn't hurt to be sure and he doesn't change subject until he receives the same response the next two times he asks.

He only needs one last thing from the man, one last thing before moving on to bigger targets, and he pulls Brecht's left arms closer, pinning it with his knee just before the elbow. The man gasps and cries in pain, but he ignore him as he removes the blade from his boot and feels along the thin skin at his wrist, locating the solid lump of his Omni-Tool implant. That gets the human's attention as he futilely tries to pull away, but his broken limps are weak and his fight is nothing more than a nuisance before Garrus rolls his eyes and lays his other knee in his palm and against his shattered fingers.

That cuts off any more resistance efforts as the Turian lays the sharp blade against the slick, human skin and slices the arm open around the implant. A loud cry falls from trembling lips before Brecht gains enough strength to scream fully. How the man isn't deaf by now, Garrus will never know, but a moment later, the Omni-Tool is out and still intact.

Garrus lifts off, letting the human scramble away to press his back against the cool metal wall as hard as possible in attempts to escape any more torment, and checks the Interface, nodding as everything runs smoothly as if still imbedding in its host. Pocketing the implant, and turning the crate back into darkness, he turns to Brecht, his plump form trembling with tiny whimpers as he grips his broken limbs to his chest.

"Please," he wheezes towards where he last say the Turian by the orange glow. "Please, I don't know anything else. Please, let me go. I promise I won't say anything."

"What would you say? A Turian in black attacked and interrogated you?" Garrus moves closer, not bothering to hide the falls of his feet and drawing a flinch at each from Brecht. "Your promise is worthless to me."

"You can't kill an innocent man," he says weakly, but even he seems to not completely believe his own chances.

"No, I can't." Garrus lowers to Brecht's side. "But you aren't an innocent man, are you?" The man bites his lips to hold back the sob that jerks against his chest and drops his head in hopeless resignation.

"Please," he whispers as his eyes droop, his body obviously going to shock from his injuries, and Garrus watches as his eyes close and waits until his breathing steadies into the gradual rise and fall of unconsciousness. Once sure the man is under, Garrus takes the man's head in his heads and gives it a sharp twist and tug, snapping his neck and giving him a quick end. He feels the body slump against his side before he drags the man out and piles him onto a cargo lift in order to transport him away from the warehouse.

He doesn't need to move far with his cargo before he finds what he's looking for and pulls the lift into the access to the Keeper tunnels nearby, ducking into the narrow pathways that are clearer of debris than even the Presidium. He has to drag Brecht's body the rest of the way, but he doesn't mind much as no one will think twice about a lift in the warehouse district being out of place as C-Sec often had complaints of Keepers moving items randomly.

He doesn't care if anyone finds Brecht's body, he covered his tracks and the man is dirty enough that the evidence of foul play could point to anyone he has wronged, but the discovery does come with other complications. He can't afford to get out the knowledge of the human's death as that could find its way to Omega and he can't risk losing his next target, who he now knows as Kron Harga. All of this will mean nothing if the damned Batarian can just go into hiding and continue his slaving business.

With the stimulants still pumping through his system and combined with the adrenaline of a successful hunt, he lets his sense of smell pull him towards the protein vats in the tunnels. By the time anyone discovers the scene in the warehouse, the vats will have done their job and there will be nothing left of Brecht to investigate, to lead C-Sec into investigating the sudden missing Omni-Tool and question  _that_  rarity. He doesn't want any officers trying to look into what the Tool could possess worth outright removing, they wouldn't do anything worth-while with it and he's damn sure not going to let it go to waste.

Coming upon the strong smell of the vats and whatever untold things may be dissolving within, Garrus stops to shift his hold on the body in his arms in order to better move it. He lifts the man under his arms, grunting at the dead weight that could shame a full heavy-armored Turian, and flings the upper half over the railing to hold it as he moves lower. With a light lift and flick of his center of gravity, the human's form tumbles over the metal bars and falls into the greenish-yellow vat of thick fluid with a subdued slashing-flop. The protein must work fast, as a light sizzle and scent of decay permeates through the filters of his helmet, and he leans his elbows on the railing as he watches Brecht's body sink deeper, becoming completely enveloped in the chemicals.

Pulling out the Omni-Tool interface from the pocket of his suit, he holds in in his palm, the low lights of the tunnel reflecting of the thin layer of red blood on its surface. This is his key into Harga's business, his way of drawing the slaver out for the kill, and he closes his fist around the tiny electronic, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Whatever outcome of their meeting, he isn't coming back to this station, back to the life he refuses to life alone, but he does have one last thing to do.

He owes it to her.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

He arrives to the apartment of another live to find a package by his door with a note. Pulling the large crate in the door, he checks the date of the delivery and sees it had arrived only a day after his life fell apart, but he doesn't recognize what it could be or who it could be from. Checking the note only makes his dead heart beat once in order to feel pain and he nearly collapse.

_Mr. Vakarian. I hear you're doing well in Spectre training. Thought you might need some 'real' armor for when you get back to the Normandy. We do manage to find the best kinds of adventure, after all, so I got you some heavy armor._

Plus, you need to stop being so damn stubborn and listen to your doctor, you little shit! Stop making me worry about you!

Jane

P.S. I miss blue on you, so promise me you'll wear this when I get back. I bet it'll look damn good!

He lays the note aside and turns to the crate, not sure if he wants the pain of grief to return by looking at its contents. He rumbles a low keen, his chest sore, but it stops there as his mind shuts it off, barricading the pain away behind numb indifference so he doesn't break before he needs the disassociation for Omega. Control returning, he lifts the crate's lid with a decision that, since he's coming here to collect any last vestiges of this life to keep him company on the law-less station in the Terminus, he might as well grant his lost love one last wish.

Tossing the lid aside reveals the large chest piece of a new set of armor, heavier than what he's used to but stronger than he could imagine, that shines in a dark blue with inset lines of black where the plates come together. The collar is tall and perfect to protect his neck and it sweeps down low to cover his waist without limiting his movement. Setting it aside reveals the rest, equally heavy shoulder plates and gauntlets followed by solid boots and strong leg guards.

He doesn't hesitate to remove the black layers of his now needless armor, even stripping off the worn undersuit to replace it with the more durable one that came with his armor, and his body actually feels good once the heavy pieces of metal protection fall and snap into piece around his body. The armor lies heavy on his limbs and he already knows that it will cause pain until he becomes used to it, builds the proper muscles to wield it, but he likes the feeling and wouldn't trade it for the comfort of his older sets.

The discomfort and eventual pain will do him good, let him have a psychical reminder of what he can't allow his mind to focus on for fear of losing focus. Let the blue plates and black material press against him like a lover, like the life that was ripped from him, and let his pain turn into sore muscles and bruised hide so that he can do right, succeed in one way where he has failed so many other times before.

Strapping his weapons to his new armor, he moves to the bedroom of the lifeless apartment and grabs a duffle bag for the few things he will take with him. He packs few clothes, the need to possibly blend in once in a while demanding he have something less obvious than a heavy suit of blue armor, and grabs a few things to keep clean, but he saves nearly the entire bag for the last scraps of his past life.

Jane's wedding dress, still crumbled in the bed from the last time he slept here with it clutched in his hands as he curled his body around it, gets folded as neatly as he can manage with his limited knowledge of human clothes and he finds her sketchbooks in a drawer in his desk. He drops the bag on the ground before he then rips the longer strap from another. He then grabs her guitar, trying to handle it with the most care he can manage, and he ties a loop around the longer stem and a large one around the curve of its wider base. Slinging the guitar over his shoulder to rest on his back alongside his favored sniper rifle, he takes the bag of the rest of his things in hand and leaves the apartment behind.

Within no time he finds a one-way transport to Omega that doesn't charge him much and, even better, doesn't ask questions as he hires them. He doesn't bother to look back at the station that once held his old life as the shuttle launches on its way and instead starts to devise his plan for when he arrives at the station that will hold his new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -SquigglySquid says: Just wanted to thank any and everyone who nominated and voted for Juxtaposed and Genesis on KinkMeme. It's a real honor and I really appreciate it.
> 
> Just as an FYI, if readers want the two years, I would like to make it a separate fic because two years can offer a lot of story. :) Here's the question, would you like a summary with key points that point to Resurgence, or would you like me to get into the gist of ME2?


	5. Chapter 5

-Jane-

 _"_ _Despite what you may think, Shepard." A puff of smoke wisps out from between holographic lips of a man only referred to as The Illusive Man. "I do not take pleasure in the knowledge that the Turian has slipped into the shadows." He takes a long draw from his cigarette, probably missing the open scowl on Jane's newly-minted features even though she could care less if he saw. "Rest assured, even if do not agree with your_ unconventional _choice, I am able to see the benefit in any additional support in the war against the Reapers."_

Remembering the conversation from the Illusive Prick, Jane tightens her fist around the bottle of whatever flowery shit Cerberus seemed to think suitable for her hair and watches the thick substance ooze up and over her hand before falling to the shower floor with a wet plop. Oh, how she could easily picture any number of people being that frilly bottle of useless expense that's spitting all its nauseating guts all over the equally expensive tile before swirling down the drain.

She isn't stupid and she knows every word that falls out of every pompous asshole's mouth on this damn ship is nothing more than a sugar coated lie all wrapped around a cyanide capsule of racist bullshit. From the moment she opened her eyes, her head pounding and lungs burning with a memory still fuzzy from sedation, she knew she was in enemy territory and tit deep in something she couldn't hope to pull herself out of. Though she wasn't quite prepared to know the  _exact_  details of her circumstances – dead two years and nothing but worm-chow according to Jacob when he wasn't too busy gaping like a dead fish – she knows full well that she's dancing at the ends of the strings of the three-headed dog.

So no, she doesn't believe for one second that Cerberus knows nothing about her husband because it just doesn't seem like the kind of thing some all-knowing corporation would just let slip through their blood-stained fingers. Whether they are hiding the information from her because they fear the outcome should she find out something happened to him – in which case she'd probably just say 'fuck it' and let the universe burn because, technically, she should be dead anyways – or they want to keep her figurative balls in their fists by keeping him away.

Tossing the nearly empty bottle against the controls of the shower, causing it to turn off – either due to skill or just the damned AI meddling – Jane steps out of the shower and twists the water out of her hair. She doesn't bother being gentle with the strands, even relishing the pain because it's the only thing that feels  _real_  about the body she's in, and ignores the towel hanging from the bar on the wall to approach the mirror. Wiping the condensation with a hand, she frowns at the sight of her body, unnatural in its pristine condition and flawless skin.

If she looks away from the twisted gouges in her flesh that shine with some otherworldly glow, every scar is gone, from the huge burning from Akuze across her entire back to the small cut on the underside of her chin from tripping as a kid on the asphalt, and she absolutely despises that fact. She was a warrior, a soldier, and ever scar was proof of a battle hard-fought and won. It didn't matter if she fought with bullets or fists, against Geth or even her own clumsiness, they were hers dammit and they were stolen from her.

Just like those supposed two years, she can't get them back and she just doesn't know what to do with that fact.

Worse than her scars, though, is the knowledge that her body isn't as it was before. What may have been two years for everyone else is only days for her, so when she looks at her figure in the mirror, she sees the difference in her. Her breasts and ass, though not massively altered, were only the size and shape they are now when she was busy shaking her ass for singles and drugs, not shaking her ass trying to avoid bullets.

She may not have been overtly masculine when in the Alliance, but she wasn't all curvy as she is – and was – and it angers her in a way she can't explain. Sure, she missed the slightly larger breasts and cheeks that turned heads in a low enough top or tight enough pants, but she was a fucking soldier. She still looked enough like a woman in her armor and she was proud, so why did the glorified whore that's at Cerberus' beck-and-call have to go and change things? Things that don't mean shit when considering the whole point Jane is even here?

 _If she thinks I'm wearing one of those fucking catsuits, she can fuck off,_  Jane thinks as she tightens her hands into fists, glaring at the sparkling shimmers of red that flash in the cracks of her skin when she shifts just so.

She stares at the artificial lights and wonders just how much of her really is what she thinks it is and how much is really just supplemented with cogs and bits of metal or vat-grown tissue. 'Meat and tubes,' Taylor had said and even a woman with an eight year old's education knows that doesn't equate to a whole and intact – well, mostly – human. That barely even equates into  _half_ , so just what of her body is really what she remembers? Is her mind even her own or just some machine that thinks it's her?

Would it really matter, though, if she was the real Jane or just a robot that thinks it was her? Either way, she's strangling at the end of Cerberus' puppet strings, so what good would it be to question her existence? There was only one in her past life who would've been able to answer her questions, but Cerberus has all but denied his existence, dangled him before her nose like a child teasing a starving mutt.

Perhaps, if he is indeed still alive and well, it would be better that he doesn't fall into the same quicksand she's slowing drowning in. Whether or not she's really herself, she could never drag Garrus into one of the three maws of the hound of hell. She vowed to keep him safe from harm when they were bonded and keeping him away from the humanity-first organization is the best thing she could think of to keep that promise, so maybe  _that's_  her answer to her identity.

The only problem to that theory comes in the remembrance of one hooded figure on a human colony known as Freedom's Progress, a young girl she once thought of as a sister she never had a chance to have. If even the people she thought she could trust can't see Jane inside this body of wax and metal, then how can she?

She groans at the headache pounding in her temples at the rushing thoughts, at the noose around her neck in the image of a shiny, new Normandy and fresh body, and wraps her hands around her head, her fingers tangling in her hair. Her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth opens in a frustrated and broken scream before her ears hear the shattering of glass, her body slowly realizing it had moved from its earlier position.

She opens her eyes to a broken mirror and bloody knuckles held mid-air, as if stunned by the sudden wound. It doesn't help much besides just allowing the disjointed image of herself that shines back to finally look like how she's feeling and she can't seem to decide which is more captivating, the shattered woman staring back at her with red smeared across the left side of her face, or the sight of red seeping over the tight skin across her fist and dripping to the cold floor.

"Shepard, do you need assistance?" intones the emotionless AI and Jane contemplates swinging her bloody fist through the floating ball of blue in her room just to spite the damned pest. It would do her no good, though, besides just proving the point of that condescending bitch downstairs that she's clearly still unhinged from her resurrection and she knows it, so she instead picks at a shard of glass in her skin before flicking it into the skin.

"EDI," she says with narrowed eyes at the closed bathroom door. "Do me a favor and fuck off. I don't need a God damned AI watching me take a piss in the bathroom."

"I do not observe any activities within facilities designated for private matters within a visual capacity, but I do have readings of elevated heartrate indicative with stress and possible injury." Jane rolls her eyes and exhales heavily. "I am also tasked with monitoring you under orders by Operative Lawson so that she may determine if you are adapting well considering your premature awakening."

Grabbing a towel to wrap her bleeding fist in order to get to the first aid in her room, she exits the bathroom and stares down the floating orb by her door. "EDI, I'm not going to repeat myself. Go piss off someone else." A pause, almost as if contemplating, before the AI logs off without another word and leaves Jane to fish out the Medi-Gel and bandage wrap from her desk drawer.

She throws on some civvies and it only takes a few moments to cover the wound – the first one in this new body that she will cherish as her first true scar – and it gives her the chance to finally examine the large waste of space that supposed to be her quarters since she went straight to the shower after Freedom's Progress. The room makes no sense for a commanding officer on a supposed warship, but, then again, this  _was_  Cerberus and they seemed to be all for needless expenses if her boob and ass jobs – curtesy of one Miranda Bitch Lawson – were anything to go by.

From the fish tank to the entire lounge of couches, she can't understand just who exactly Cerberus thought was going to be running the Normandy. Granted, Lawson had just as ridiculous an office as this, so perhaps it was just the company waving their money around like so many rich asshats Jane has seen through her life, but her mind just couldn't see the point. If reports were to be believed, their odds of  _not_  ending up like the first Normandy were slim and nearly nonexistent, so why bother with leather seats in the Captain's cabin?

She was about to rip the sheets off the bed – the sight of fluffy comforter and crisp sheets too distracting when trying to imagine this as anything else than a fancy, padded coffin – when she stutters to a stop, her breath draining from her lungs along with every last drop of blood in her veins. She falls hard on her ass, her eyes wide at the rushing stars and pulsing blue of kinetic barrier that's clearly visible through the viewport above her bed. If she had any food in her stomach, she knows she'd be puking it all over the smooth rug clenched in her bone-white fingers. Instead, she's just left gagging, gasping for air that seems as heavy as lead, as the bright fires of stars suddenly pulls a memory she must have blocked out during death – or maybe rebirth – in attempts to remain sane.

"Who the  _fuck_?!" she screams, her voice weak through a strangled throat. She feels cold and hot, like her skin is layered in ice while her insides burn with an uncontrollable fire, and her eyes only see darkness, replaying the last moments of struggling in an endless sea of black, but the feeling of something solid below her help to anchor her rage.

She bolts to her feet and clenches her eyes shut, forcing herself with every ounce of strength she has to breathe- to realize that she  _has air_ , she isn't suffocating- and her heart steadies to a heavy thrumming, which is better than the uncontrolled staccato rhythm. Her hands are shaking, both from anger and that little thing she'll never admit is fear, but she doesn't take notice as she rushes towards the elevator and jabs the command to take her down to the Crew Deck. There's only one person she could blame for the slap in the face that fucking window presents, but she'll have to take his second-in-command in his place.

 _Speak of the devil._  The doors slide open on the deck to reveal the seemingly permanent scowl of one Miranda Lawson, her arms crossed and her hip cocked. "Shepard," she starts as she pulls up something from her Omni-Tool, "have you had a chance to look over the Dossiers-"

She doesn't get much further in her question because when she looks up from her Tool, Jane swings her uninjured fist straight into the woman's pristine face, knocking her to the ground.  _She's lucky that's my off fist,_ she thinks with a smirk as she steps over the woman's body, pinning her while still being able to tower over her.

"You tell your employer  _that's_  for the window above my damn bed. What fucking dunce thought that shit up?" She crosses her arms and glares down at the woman between her feet, not caring about the stares their show is gaining. "Keep your mind games, I already know you hold my fucking leash."

Lawson holds a hand to her nose to check if she's bleeding and winces, but not red stains her glove. Jane isn't stupid enough to injure one of the _only two_  capable soldiers on her ship, even if she thinks it's an idiotic idea to limit them in such a way in the first place.

"Shepard," she grits out between clearly unhappy teeth. "I honestly don't see where you're coming from with all this accusations, but believe me when I say that Cerberus doesn't stoop to such levels."

Jane snorts at that, clearly unimpressed and honestly wondering if the woman is just as stupid as she certainly sounds or blind. She isn't all too clear on which is worse, but she doesn't let it bother her as she steps off to let the Operative get to her feet. "Now," she says as she leans against the wall of the small hallway to watch the woman. "You were asking something about Dossiers?"

Blue eyes narrow at the clear disrespect, but she bites her tongue from any retort, deciding to drop it, instead. "Yes, I was just about to tell you that I think we should head to Omega for the Salarian doctor, Solus."

Jane rolls her eyes, not caring to hide the expression, as she sighs dramatically. "You act like I have much choice. Which I don't. Let me see," she lifts one finger as she counts, "first, you don't know the exact location of Okeer – good job on that one, by the way. Second, you haven't even paid for Jack yet, so I'm not wasting my fucking time sitting around a damn prison. Third, that bounty hunter isn't even off whatever job he had in the ass-end of the universe, so I can't get him. And what's the last thing?" She pretends to think a moment. "Oh yeah… Finally, your information fucking sucks balls, so I'm stuck chasing half-assed leads. Anything I left out?" Miranda's only response is her crossing her arms over her chest and Jane snorts. "Yeah, thought so. That's why I already told Joker to head to Omega because  _obviously_  when you said 'choice', you really meant that I'd  _think_  I had a choice."

The Cerberus operative rolls her eyes in exasperation before turning and leaving, probably to bitch and complain about her assault to the Illusive Man as if they were bickering children. Jane can't seem to care as, honestly, what would the bastard do? Cut her off? Let her go? None of those things sound all that bad, and she certainly doesn't see the man trying to kill her after paying out the ass for her, so she lets the raven haired woman stew in her room until they reach their destination.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

"I can't believe we're stuck in some  _bar_  while we wait for clearance," Miranda says with a raised lip as she stares at the bright purple drink set before her on the grimy surface of the Afterlife bar.

Jane snorts and leans back on her stool. "What do you expect? This plague supposedly affects everyone but humans and nearly half the station thinks human's either created it or carry it." She takes a sip of her drink, grimacing at the tartness of whatever the hell Miranda ordered for the three of them. "Aria doesn't want to admit it, but that 'not knowing' scares the shit out of her. So… we're stuck here until she either changes her mind, someone figures out a way to cure it, or I get bored and we move onto another Dossier."

Jacob laughs, his willingness to not be such a dog's ass one of the few things that helps him stay out of Jane's ire. "I'm okay with that, Commander. Never was one to just sit around while there was work to be done."

Jane rolls her eyes as Lawson says something, causing a little back-and-forth. Here she was thinking that they'd finally have a direction, a target they could actually obtain, when she's once again shoved head first into a brick wall. This wall just so happens to be blue and bitchy, but the Asari  _is_  the supposed rule on this place and, though that doesn't really mean much to her, she'd rather not end up confirming the fear and getting the rest of the station sick with whatever supper plague that took out a whole district already. Sure, this place is a dump and horrid reminder of her homeplanet, but it doesn't necessarily mean there isn't at least  _one_  person on this rock that doesn't deserve drowning in their own blood and puke because she was too impatient to wait for some kind of resistance to this plague.

Sighing, she steps away from the bar, telling the others that she's going to see if she can intercept Massani's ship that's supposed to be docking soon. They received confirmation that he'd accept the job – granted Cerberus pay whatever exuberant fee he was charging, which was all the same to her since she sure as hell wasn't going to pay it – and number for both his expected dock on the station as well as his arriving ship name. With that, it didn't take her much searching to find him just as he was entering Omega through the docking ramps.

Though he was no Wrex, he certainly seemed to cement the fact that one couldn't be a bounty hunter without some kind of facial scar. One eye was white as bone and that half of his face was split with a jagged scar that ran from his temple, down and under the swoop of his cheek bone, before curling under his chin. His armor was clearly custom, either through heavy mods or built to certain specification, and he immediately recognized her where she stood against the wall.

"I take it you're Shepard," he says with a heavy accent and mirroring of her posture, his arms crossed and body rocked back on one foot. "Cerberus tell you there's two parts to my deal?"

"Of course not," she says with a deep sigh.  _Figures, give me half of what I need and assume I'll manage to pull the rest out my ass._

He chuckles. "Left holding the bloody bag, eh? Fucking Cerberus…" He smirks and Jane can't help but nod in understanding, rolling her eyes. She may end up liking the old fart if he keeps this line of thinking up. "Here's the deal. I got a man I've been hunting. Name's Vito. You help me take the bastard down and I'm as good as yours."

She lifts a brow. "'As good as mine'? Might want to rethink that declaration of loyalty, you might not like what I ask you to do."

"I'll sing God save the bloody Queen if we catch Vito before he crawls back under whatever fucking rock he's hiding under."

Her lip lifts in a half smirk and nods. "Good to have you onboard." She holds out her hand and he actually takes it, giving a firm shake and nod. "Now, what do you say we head to Afterlife with the rest of my squad and see if we can't annoy Aria enough to letting us into a plague zone?"

A single bark of a laugh erupts from cracked lips as he fishes out a thick, brown cigar from a pouch on his thigh. "Think we might be able to get along, Shepard," he manages through occupied lips as he pats a couple of pouches, most likely in search of some kind of light.

"Why don't you just use your Tool?" she asks once she catches on and sees him pull out a small box of matches. "Fuck, I haven't seen matches since Earth."

He laughs, his voice raspy around the now-lit cigar. "You don't get the same taste from a lighter or any of that Omni-Tool bullshit." He takes a heavy inhale and Jane watches the flickering color of flame within the ash with a raised brow, waiting for any follow-up. "Also wouldn't have figured you for an Earth brat."

She shrugs as they pass by the Elcor bouncer outside Afterlife. "You obviously don't do your homework."

"I'm working for you, not writing your bloody biography." His eyes scan the room, like any old soldier used to all kinds of battle would, and Jane smiles inwardly at the subtle sign of experience she's been missing with the two Cerberus operatives.

Of course, Taylor was Alliance before joining Cerberus and he still follows orders as an ex-Alliance would, but he's too young for her to consider as anything more than a 'yes man', as a soldier that would agree to shoot himself in the foot simply because she ordered it. Miranda's training can only be compared to the trainings of recruits before being dropped in the field – she  _thinks_ she knows the experience, but it pales in comparison to the shitstorm of real battle. Yes, she is the superior officer and she should be responsible for the safety of all – and she in no way wants anyone to think otherwise – but she won't say that it isn't refreshing to see someone who's ready and willing to scope out danger in time, someone who's an equal.

Her footsteps falter in their steps to the bar at the thought that just sprang through her inner evaluations of what little crew she now has. 'Someone who's an equal' could never describe these people Cerberus is chaining her to. A test-tube baby designed to look like some perfect doll, an Ex-Alliance who can't seem to think for himself, and a beaten Ex-Merc turned Bounty Hunter? Her soul has been signed away by a false signature to Satan's three-headed hound to fight some untouchable force and her only weapons are a body that isn't hers and a group of soldiers so-far made of people she trusts as far as she can throw them.

She stumbles into a chair and waves Zaeed ahead, silently demanding to be left the fuck alone, as she drops her head in her hands, her eyes clenching shut.  _I've only ever trusted one God damned person in this entire universe – even more than myself – and I can't even fucking_ find _him,_  she inwardly screams.  _God dammit, Garrus. I need you._

"I need you," she whispers under her breath, the noise not even reaching her own ears over the deep bass of the dingy club. "Where are you?"

"Hey," a deep voice, like rough gravel under boots, calls through the music and she looks up with a glare at the Turian guard that had stood at the base of Aria's stairs earlier. "Aria wants to speak with you." He motions back towards the upper balcony where the vague shape of Omega's self-proclaimed queen stands. "I wouldn't keep her waiting."

Jane snorts, but stands, figuring  _why the hell not? I got nothing better to do than cater to her 'Her Highness'_. She catches the eye of Lawson, reads the silent question in the woman's narrowed eyes, but she waves off any possible assistance. She hasn't done anything to 'break the one rule of Omega' so she knows this is just what the Turian said, 'a talk'. Whether or not Jane comes back to the bar in need of a stiff drink is up to whatever the Asari wishes to talk about.

"Aw, Shepard," Aria says with a smirk and nods towards the far end of the couch in demand. Jane sits with a shrug and shifts against the hard cushions to get comfortable, but mostly because she can't help but enjoy the slight irritation in the woman's sharp eyes when she takes just a bit too long squirming against the squeaky material. "For Omega's sake, just sit still, dammit." She sighs once Jane follows. "As I was about to say, I have some information that you might find useful in your pathetic little crusade or whatever it is you're here for."

At that, Jane raises a brow. Clearly, Aria T'Loak doesn't just give information away because no smart-minded crime-boss – because that's exactly what she is, no matter how anyone likes to word it – just hands out something for free. "Yeah? And what's this, a resurrection present? I'm assuming this isn't going to come out of the kindness of your heart."

A thin line on the Asari's face rises just so in amusement. "My, my… you'd think someone like yourself would be more grateful." She crosses her hands over her lap. "But you're correct, I'm not doing this for my own damn enjoyment. In fact," her eyes narrow as she glares daggers across her little sanctuary, "the sooner this gets handled, the sooner you're off my station and it's one last nuisance."

"I'm listening."

"Good." Aria stands and turns her back to Jane, looking out across the club below like a goddess over her kingdom.  _And what a shitty kingdom, at that._  "If there's one thing worse than a Spectre on Omega, it's a vigilante. At least with Spectres, they get the hell out once they've caused enough trouble." She pointedly looks over, steely gray eyes locking onto green before turning back to the Afterlife crowd. "Frankly, I wouldn't care whether or not Archangel's wings get plucked by all the mercenaries after him right now, but I can't help but see the possibilities."

Her lips quirk in a grin and Jane stands to approach her, surprised when the Asari finally turns to hear her out. "Wait a minute… Assuming I  _don't_  know you're leading up to asking what it is you want from me, what does all this have to do with me?"

A winding laugh, completely lacking in mirth besides whatever pleasure the woman may get from knowing more than apparently everyone on this disgusting rock, erupts from the woman's lips and her eyes light up in glee. "It's a good thing the universe's problems seem to solve themselves with the end of a gun when you're concerned." Jane fights the urge to punch the bitch, instead biting her tongue in case all this talk actually leads somewhere. "You want soldiers for your little team? You have nowhere better to look than Archangel. In fact, I'm surprised you and your Cerberus didn't ask when you came looking for the doctor. He showed up a few years ago and nearly wiped out all three major companies on the station. And yes, I do want something in return, just not now." She sits back onto her couch, leaning back into that uncomfortable-looking position she seems to like. "Better hurry, though. I hear the mercs have been at him for days already. Tore his entire team apart and he's all that's left."

 _Figures. She gives me half-answers, then throws out the worst bit of it._  "And I take it you know how the hell I'm supposed to find him?" She crosses her arms over her chest and fights the urge to tap her foot impatiently.  _Patience… I can't have her getting any more pleasure out of this or else she'll just pussy foot me all damn day._

"Word is that the mercenaries are recruiting any freelancers. I'm sure you can manage to look shady enough to convince them you're not really there to spring out Archangel from under their noses." She waves a hand towards an area of the club downstairs. "Just don't expect them to be too happy once they find out they're the ones with the targets on their backs."

Jane nods in silent thanks, the ruler of Omega obviously done with her miraculous charity, and turns to leave. If Aria turns out to be right and this vigilante is fit for their team – if he even wants in – then it may be the first recruit that's entirely  _hers_ , not just left for her by Cerberus like some table scraps from her master.

Going after Archangel, whoever the hell he may be, regardless of the outcome or its effect on her mission will be the first damn thing she'll have done since she awoke on that fucking slab that's entirely her own decision. If she can do this, can actually manage something not set out before her, then maybe she isn't a machine like she fears, a tool wearing the face of someone she  _thinks_  she is.

"Get you're shit together, people," she says as she grabs the open chit from the bar-top. "We got a mission."

"A mission?" Miranda's sculpted brow lifts. "Did Aria allow us into the quarantine?"

Jane snorts and downs the rest of the woman's drink, not wanting her to use that as an excuse to stay behind. "Hell no. I got another recruit lined up, though."

Jacob's mouth opens for a moment before his brows draw down in confusion. "I didn't think there were any more Dossiers for Omega."

"There aren't," Lawson answers without breaking her stare into Jane's emerald eyes and crosses her arms. "Just what are you up to, Shepard?"

"We're going after a vigilante named Archangel. Turns out the bastard knows how to piss people off and I could certainly use some more of that of my fucking ship." She doesn't add the fact that the sound of someone who can seem to think for themselves also appeals to her craving desire for something – anything – that doesn't feel like she's running on some internal control Miranda  _claims_ not to have implanted. "And what vigilante wouldn't want in on saving the Universe?"

"A smart one?" Zaeed says with a smirk around his glass of something dark.

Jane waits until the older man lowers his glass before snorting, long and slow, and spitting into his glass. He curses under his breath and she smirks. "Quit your moaning… Cerberus  _did_  just buy your drink and I just gave you three an order, so fall in line."

"Daft bitch," he grunts, but pulls himself off of his seat. "If Cerberus is paying me, I ain't complaining."

"Good man," Jane responds with a nod, silently added that he's only really smart one because the others are going whether they like it or not, it just depends on them how difficult the acceptance will be. "Now, you two… Suit up. Word is Archangel's wings are wilting under the pressure of the merc bands."

"Hold on just a minute." Miranda holds up her Omni-Tool and scans through the interface. "Cerberus has a file on an Archangel on Omega, but we scrapped the Dossier because none of our analysts could find any reliable information."

"All the more reason we're going in," Jane says with a grin, the happiest in days to finally have found some kind of control in her life no matter how small. "Shove some tampons up there, Lawson, and let's go." The woman scoffs, but relents, either because she rather not argue with someone who's clearly not going to cave or because she sees that, if this issue should find its way back to the Illusive Man, would most likely favor Jane is unclear, but Jane can't find any reason to complain.

In the long run, what is really stopping them? They can't head into the quarantine zone by Aria's law and say, so the Salarian doctor, Mordin Solus, is out of the picture for now. They are also waiting on the final touches of data to come through on their other Dossiers, the Krogan and biotic criminal both held in limbo until someone gets their act together and gets organized, so there's no point to leave the station and just waste the fuel. Plus, Archangel  _had_  been a potential candidate and, even though that's a bit upsetting that he's not truly Jane's discovery, it's going to be her insistence to assist him that will get the final answers of his Dossier she would have needed.

The only logical thing to do once considering all the facts is to check and see if this Archangel could be convinced to see the importance of their mission against the big bad boogeymen known as the Collectors. If he says yes, then Jane both gets another gun and, hopefully, the knowledge that she can, in fact, go against the wishes of Cerberus' whip holder on the mock-Normandy. Any added bonus of pissing off said whip holder is just icing on the cake.


	6. Chapter 6

-Garrus-

It's been two years. Two years since he took to the station perpetually darkened by the shadow casted by corruption in search for his own death, for a posthumous chance at redemption, and today he may get his wish. His body has been nothing more than a living corpse that managed to trap and hold the shattered pieces of himself like a stubborn child despite his every efforts to escape, but even his battle-hardened instincts sees no way out of the situation he's in.

Except it wasn't supposed to be this way, he wasn't supposed to have drug others down into his self-inflicted hell with him.

Ten good people – soldiers for lack of a better equivalent – lay under fire retardant tarps across the floor of the lower level of this little building they have taken to calling 'home' – which he had never truly accepted as his  _anything_  except his tomb. He couldn't find anything better to cover them with, to hide their bodies from the dishonor and grant them some dignity over their falling foes. The simple lack of proper foresight for such a loss on their part hurts because it only solidifies the fact that they never intended, never expected, or never believed the truth in his earlier words.

When he had arrived on Omega so long ago, he was alone and was determined to stay that way. His goal here on this poverty and crime stricken mining rock was to find a way to die that could please the Spirits he never believed in in efforts to find his lost mate on the other side. If he could die doing something to be proud of, then perhaps the pain of not being there to fulfill the duty he ever took seriously would fade away.

He was at peace with his decision, found purpose in taking as many dark souls with him into the abyss, but he also knew his actions would attract individuals who believed in the cause his crusade was intimidating. Where he wanted to die, they wanted a chance at cleansing their own souls so that they could  _live_  the lives they believed they would gain through redemption, through proving they weren't as torn by their past actions as they feared. No matter how he tried to dissuade that way of thinking and how it seemed to include his own actions, it had a way of persisting.

He knows it all started when he gained his moniker.

He had chased his lead on Kron Harga, the Batarian slaver that was part of a human trafficking ring that's suppler was already taken care of, to a shipping and storing facility. The man was mostly alone, surrounded only by a handful of armed guards that were a pathetic excuse for gunmen and easily taken care of without being detected. In no time he found out that the man was, in fact, trading in kidnapped humans and was currently torturing an older male that supposedly was 'too old and crippled for sale'.

A couple of shots to the extremities dropped both his weapon he was using to beat the man and his body to the dingy ground. A few more to his major organs had him spilling the locations of the last remaining containers of slaves he held within the labyrinth in his facility. Once he gained the information he needed, he made sure to leave the half-dead Batarian as a message for whoever else may have been running in his group of slavers in the form of a charred body strapped to the explosive tank of the warehouse's transportation crane. Releasing the humans from their bonds had earned both grateful thanks, mostly wordless and sobbed through dirt stained tears, but it wasn't until he went to check the original male that he was given the name he never even wanted.

_"_ _You are an archangel sent from God, stranger." The human man had said, his shaking hands clasping weakly against his gauntlet. "'And at that time shall Michael stand up, the great prince which standeth for the children of thy people: and there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time: and at that time thy people shall be delivered, every one that shall be found written in the book.'"_

He hadn't understood what the man had meant, didn't recognize the strange sounding statement as what it was at the time, but it didn't take long for any sudden act of justice against the evil of the station to be associated with the 'Archangel of Omega'. While he didn't mind it and didn't care if his actions gained the attentions of the civilians of the station because it didn't affect him in the slightest – the reputation even managed to scare a few idiots into weakening their own defenses for him – he did see how it led to the situation he was in now.

He had started to hear word and rumors of jobs done in his name and, while he didn't see any problem in others working to brighten the station under his disguise, he knew it could lead to his enemies becoming whoever poor fool's enemies as well. Where they were taking out lower level gangs and individuals, he had moved to larger targets, targets with the money and pull to successfully take out armies, let alone a handful of vigilantes.

He already had the blue and red blood of his past life to stain his hands and shift the silvery hue of his plates, he didn't want his reputation to add the unknown names of some idiot heroes on top of that. With that in mind, he planted rumors of Archangel through the clubs and lower areas of refugees, listened in on the hushed whispers of sightings, and it didn't take long before he managed to find a lead in the form of a Turian being beaten in some back alley by a couple of Blood Pack Krogan.

_"_ _Give it up, Krosk. This shit's too weak to be Archangel." A single shot from his Spectre pistol at the side of the head imbeds into the blue crown of the speaker, the mods equipped meant for individual penetration and internal ricochet perfect for making the Krogan's regeneration useless. The second goes down from the long blade of his combat knife slicing through the flabby muscles and thick arteries unprotected from plate in the front and a pistol shot to the head makes sure he won't be getting back up._

"Spirits," a beaten and bloody Turian gasps as he pulls himself up from the floor, his eyes wide on the helmeted and fully armored Archangel. "You're him…"

It had turned out that, as stupidly suicidal at it sounded, the man had been looking for him in hopes with speaking.  _Trying to convince_  was more like what had occurred in the dark alley outside some nameless bar where the fool had tried to make Garrus see reason in accepting a team, a group of 'like-minded' individuals who wanted to make something of their skills that didn't included hurting innocent people.

He had snubbed that idea quickly, making it clear that he didn't want or need the liability or responsibility for carrying others. Of course, he didn't tell the truth that laid under the metallic surface of each bullet or wrapped in each breath he managed to force through his lungs, but it didn't matter. He was going to find the death he deserved  _alone_  and certainly not by the side of people who supposedly didn't know the meaning of subtly and secrecy.

It didn't end there, though, and even managed to get worse. Somehow, he continuously heard of this supposed group, even managed to track them from one of their jobs, and he was constantly torn on either letting them continue on with their shoddy efforts that would most likely get them killed or trying to get them to stop under threat that they were going to fail. The thought of acceptance was out of the question, the thought of them falling into his desired hell never crossing him mind in his indecision, and the thought of having to hold off on his own hunts was irritating.

Yet they persisted, determined through some inane reasoning that they would make the station 'a better place' under the name of a revered savior whether he approved or not. Even his attempts to sabotage their missions – though he could never willing put them in danger even if he didn't like them – didn't stop them and he soon found that he was reluctantly learning to see the point that their added number  _could_  help him on some of the bigger jobs he had planned. After a long time of trying – and failing – to break their will to aid his unintended cause on Omega, he finally accepted, finally allowed the small group of would-be heroes into the world of the 'first Archangel'.

Though he could have been called cold and distant at the best of times with them, he never wanted what became of them. They weren't tainted like he was, their sins were forgiven long ago due to their actions, and, yet, there they lie under emotionless tarps of vibrant copper because he failed, again.

He could have taught them from the beginning how to expect the unexpected, how to survive without him – since he  _would_  be gone, one day, of that he had no doubt or regret – because then they could have survived, could have managed to defend themselves when the mercenaries rushed in.

It wouldn't have taken much to set up position as he had, created a kill-zone to pick off any incoming hostiles, and they had picked this very location for just that. This small apartment building had been built, unknowingly, to be the perfect hold-out if they had ever found themselves under enemy fire. With their number, they could have held off the largest forces long enough to gain a bit of slack to escape through the lower levels, but, somehow, they were caught off-guard, unaware, and he can only blame himself for not making sure they were prepared. If he doesn't, then it only means he was right to believe they weren't cut out for fighting Omega's darkness in the first place when he had dismissed them and he never really wanted to be proven correct in such a brutal, painful, way.

With a heavy exhale, Garrus grabs the last of his supply of Rebound, the street-name for his current stimulant, the only thing in two years that ever keep the dreams of  _her_  at bay by never letting him sleep until he just blacked out into unconsciousness, and cracked the tube to release the separate fluids into the vial to create a purplish hued mixture. Now isn't the time to ponder the 'what ifs' of his mistakes, he figures, as he injects the drug into his system, the sharp sting and shock of awareness flooding his veins.

Lifting over the low wall of his level, he takes aim and drops the unfortunate bastard that didn't happen to check his position behind his cover and pulls the trigger. The small cluster of enemies – not mercenaries if their mismatched armor is anything to go by – scatters back behind the barricades that line the boardwalk at the other end of his bridge and he drops back down behind his cover.

He knows his time is short, now, because the short time to observe their numbers during his shot only shows his sleep deprived mind that they have already formed some kind of plan of attack. He wouldn't be surprised to see the three merc bands finally working at a single idea – their individual approaches already managing to fall apart under his fire – and he closes his eyes to collect his jumbled thoughts, trying to wade through all the turmoil in his head enough to make sure he truly  _is_  ready.

He opens he eyes with a raspy groan at the single thought that bleeds through, the one thing he wouldn't feel right leaving unattended: saying goodbye. He opens up the Interface of his Omni-Tool and dials up the one number he'd never expect to be calling at this time, but knowing that its owner would be best in this situation because he wouldn't ask unnecessary questions or make unattainable demands.

_"_ _Hello?"_

A mandible flicks at the deep rumble of confusion on the other side of the line, knowing the unknown and decrypted number must have raised a brow plate or two. "Hey, dad."

 _"_ _Garrus? Is that you?"_  A pause that Garrus uses to lean over and take another shot at an unsuspecting target.  _"_ _What's that noise?"_

"You know me. Can never deny some target practice," he jokes with little humor, pulling at the old memory of firing some old rifle too heavy for his young arms as a child at his father's side. It is a time from a life long before he fell out of his father's graces, before he gained the view on life that differed so greatly to his stern parent, and it was one of the only things the two never fought about in efforts to try and maintain the memory of one true moment of father-son comradery.

He hears a knowing thrum from his father, the man not stupid despite his recent retirement, but continues before the older Turian can say anything. "How is mom, by the way? And Sol?" He takes out two more enemies in rapid fire.

 _"_ _She misses you. They both do."_  Garrus hums in understanding, reading the unspoken statement, and leaves the fact that he's already transferred every last credit over for her treatments in anticipation, figuring that his family will find the money soon enough.  _"_ _But forget about that… Give me a report of your situation."_

Two more shots and Garrus sees collections of mismatched armors grouping up into what he assumes will be attack squads. "Looks like they're preparing for a frontal push."

 _"_ _How is your thermal clip situation?"_  A grunt in response as he takes down a brightly tinted Salarian that doesn't keep his head down.  _"_ _Listen to me, son. You keep pulling that trigger until you hear it click. Remember what I told you all those years ago, as long as you have at least one bullet left, you can still get the job done. Do you understand?"_

The older man's deep exhale and heavy swallow is barely heard over the loud register of rifle, but Garrus hears it and gives an answering nod, though his father will never see it. "I hear you. One way or another, I'll get what I came here for."

A long pause echoes through the line as he takes the opportunity to watch a group of individuals that don't look all that typical to all the other foes that have been rushing his compound, both mercenary and freelancer alike. Certainly strange to see higher quality armor, but he can't get a better look before he has to duck back under cover.

_"_ _Garrus, you finish up what you need to do there and then you come home. We have a lot to talk about."_

The words almost fade into static in his ears as his attention focuses entirely on the image through his scope, on the impossibility that seems to stare straight into his blue eyes from across the distance.

 _She_  is moving towards his position through the barricades set up for sporadic cover down the long boardwalk. He shakes his head to dispel the hallucination, cursing that his state is managing to make her appear amidst the scum of the station, but, when he looks back, she remains, the red and white N-7 on her chest glaring through his scope like a laser from an enemy rifle.

"I have to go, dad." His mouth is dry and not entirely caused by his water supply running out long ago, but his father hums in understanding, his reluctance to let the connection drop clear in the empty tension on the line. "Don't worry," he offers with shaking breaths as he lines up a shot on his insanity, clicking his weapon's ammunition to a concussive round. "I think things are looking up for me."

His father doesn't need to know that he expects this sudden sight of his lost mate to only mean his personal spirit of death has finally come, his desired end taking the form of the one thing he ever truly cared about or wanted, and he doesn't complain when his father sighs in dejected loss before finally letting his son go for the last night. It doesn't matter, though, and Garrus is somewhat glad that his last moments won't be surrounded by the sound of one of the people he feels he never could quite live up to.

He pulls the trigger of his rifle, humming at the low impact that ripples through his shoulder, and watches in expectation of the form of his lost life to dissipate like vapor – just as it always has in his dreams and visions – but it doesn't. To his shock and utter disbelief, the form jerks at the impact, throws her hand to clasp at her shoulder, and her lips jerk in what he only hopes is some vulgar curse in his direction as she scowls, sending a glare his way.

His mandibles flick in confusion, the first emotion he's felt in a long time that truly reached through the fog, and he barely catches himself, ducking away from a passing round. No hallucination has _ever_  been affected by something he's done, never reacted to outside forces without dissipating into nothingness, and he doesn't know what to do with that fact.

Is his mind finally falling to pieces after being cracked over and over during his two years of delayed suicide? Is he already dead and just living his last moments in some twisted form of awareness before the end? Is he in a hell that's described in so many religions where his torment is to be constantly in a battle he can never win with his wife just beyond enemy lines?

He leans out of cover in time to witness the rush of bodies that clamber over the wall and he has no more time to question reality, to ponder the existence of what really must have been a figment as he can no longer see  _her_. The wave is clearly just meant as a distraction, as they don't take cover, take shots without aiming, and fall easily under his fire, but what he doesn't expect, what manages to give him yet another surprise, is to see fire erupt from under his feet, targeting the incoming freelancers.

He wouldn't guess the mercenaries to turn on their supposed allies – though he knows they're really nothing more than cannon fodder – so soon, but he wouldn't put it past them. As it is, he can't do much of anything about the individuals no out of his sight besides take out the last stranglers on the bridge before turning his attention inward, hoping to take out the added number of mercenaries that managed to break through and join the small infiltration team he knew was already inside.

Through his scope, he watches as a mercenary that's climbing the stairs turns away from his direction, their eyes widening before they are engulfed in a halo of blue. He lowers his rifle to make sure he's really seeing what he thinks he's seeing: his supposed enemies, a group of four humans in mismatched armors, are taking out the few Blue Suns mercenaries that had happened to make it through his earlier defenses. He almost lines up his shot on one of the humans, a scarred male in golden armor, when his talon is stilled by the sweet, and equally terrifying, sound he hasn't heard but in his nightmares in two years.

"Zaeed, see if we can rig those explosives at the entrance into proximity charges. Jacob and Miranda, check to see if we have any other points of entry and make sure that lower level access is as sealed as the mercs say. I got Archangel."

His chest constricts- a pain he hasn't felt in so long- and he suddenly can't breathe, his body shaking despite the drugs in his system meant to limit that reaction. How can he imagine a hallucination that can talk to anything else but himself? Why would his figment of death bring along others? Others he's never even  _heard of_ , let alone cares about?

Also, why would a figment need to hack a door panel instead of just appear inside?

Not in the right mind to even think about answering these rolling questions or the many others that haven't found words yet in the internal fog to voice their concern, he lets his panic control him, wiping his rifle up and taking aim straight at the now-unlocking door. A low growl rumbles in the confines of his helmet just as they part to the frighteningly beautiful sight of  _her_ , her green eyes widening in surprise and hands flying up in passive understanding of the very dangerous weapon pointed point-blank at her.

"Hey, easy." Her voice is chilling and the sniper shakes subtly in his grip at the torment of the tiny cracks in his hard-built wall of emotional separation it causes. She takes a slow step forward and he growls in threat, but the sound is weak in even his own ears. "I mean no harm, Archangel."

It's that, her voice saying his fake name that makes him gasp as if drowning because his hallucinations  _never_  call him that, never need to because he's never called himself that unless on a hunt and they never torment him then. He keens, finally after two years, and doesn't fight her when she nudges the gun just a bit to the side, enough to keep his shuttering grip from accidently putting pressure against the trigger – he doesn't think he can handle it if that action just shatters this horribly bitter-sweet moment of needed insanity.

Her hands move closer and he jerks back, his armored back hitting the wall he used as cover from the bridge and broadway when he moved his attentions, but he can't escape her. His keens raise in unvoiced plea not to break the mirage, not to close the final gap and reveal it all as some twisted joke of death, and grabs at her hands with his left hand.

Like a shock, he cries out when his talons actually wrap around her wrist and he isn't ashamed to admit that his heart jumps with the sudden cry of 'please, let this vivid dream not just be the next step in my insane oblivion' that repeats over and over in his skull. He hears her low hums and coos of comfort, the sound so like what he heard so long ago, and struggles in a futile attempt to keep her hands from taking the clasps of his helmet in their grip.

"It's alright," she whispers, her eyes bright with emotion he's never seen in his shaking mind, with love he's never managed to recreate no matter how his broken heart had tried and hopes it hadn't somehow discovered to now. "It's okay, Amora."

The long-lost term of endearment of his people she only ever used once breaks the last of his resistance, though doesn't loosen his grip around her hand for fear she'd slip through his fingers like sand and leave him alone, and she lifts his helmet off. She smiles and he starts to panic, knowing that if she disappears with the touch against his plates he'll just put his own gun to his head in defeat, but she doesn't seem to see the turmoil in his dilated silvery-blue eyes as she steps even closer, the weight of her image's proximity pressing against his armor-bound plates.

"I knew it was you," she says as her lips shift into a smirk and her gloved hands move to cup his face, making him clench his eyes shut in anticipation of the crashing truth. She snorts lightly at that, her breath even managing to puff against his plates, and he holds his breath, his heart stopping and gizzard knotting.

Then, he feels his body run cold, his breath rushing out of his lungs in disbelieving shock, and his eyes shoot open at the feeling of warm lips pressed to his plates.  _Her lips_ , he realizes with a shameless moan as he can't help but to open his own mouth in silent plea that this is real, whether by some miracle or just caused by the dying sparks of the neurons in his brain he doesn't care.

His gun clatters to the ground as his entire body shutters with feeling he's denied himself for so long he doubted he could ever experience it again and he clutches at her. He lets her wrist go to grip her closer, tangling into her hair to mess the always meticulous bun and relishing the smell of  _her_  that hits his nose, and the other claws at her back, pushing her body against his in effort to get her closer, ever closer, in attempts that they could merge by whatever magic has even brought her here.

She moans, low in her throat and oh so pleasing to his addled psyche, and grips just as tightly against him, her mouth opening over his as her tongue desperately laps at him. He answers her, both vocally and physically, by wrapping his own tongue around hers, his lower plates shifting in the first time in so long just by her achingly familiar taste that sparks against his tongue like fire.

The usual sounds of Omega around them dissolves into nothing but useless static as he desperately reacquaints his last remaining sanity of her - her taste, her smell, the way she feels in his hands, against his body, and against his tongue – but his abnormally heightened senses, all thanks to the constant flow of stims in his body over the years, picks up on the sound of footsteps that cuts through the broken sound of long-forgotten sounds from their joining like a hot knife.

"Commander-"

"God dammit, Miranda!" The image of Jane snaps, jerking her head to the side, but still remaining in his hold and keeping him tightly gripped in her own. He doesn't quite know how to react to that, his hallucinations never remained just for the sensation after teasingly him mercilessly. "What the fuck is so important you can't just comm me?"

He nearly keens when the woman in his arms pulls away to stand before him with her arms crossed around her chest and a glare burning in her eyes, but it does give him a chance to actually  _look_  at her, to examine her even if he still fears she's not really real.

Her skin and hair are more vibrant and bright when compared to what he would expect, what he remembers, of her from fighting side by side for so long, living together and sharing lives. Her body is shaped differently, too, rounder around her breasts and hind-quarters, but not abnormally so and he also knows enough about her people to know that those particular areas can change shape with diets and exercise. He even likes the added shape to them, even wonders how they'd feel in his hands – though the thought is probably due to his recently resurrected desire from her contact and not the best thing to occupy his mind while in the middle of already unbelievable circumstances.

Despite all of the differences, it's her, he knows it's her. Her smell, her manner of speech, the way she holds her body when she's angry – which is obvious – and even the way she twisted and circled her tongue against his all point to the truth his heart is already set on. The pain that always set itself in the middle of his keel or pounded just so at his temples is gone, the empty feeling of despair no longer hollowly echoing through his veins and pulling him towards the grave.

He doesn't know whether all this really means that by some random stroke of unnatural miracle she's really here – which is certainly beyond belief, yet desperately wanted – or just the spirit of death offering one final glimpse of happiness, but he's willing to admit he doesn't care all that much either way. He'll gladly lay down his weapons and let the darkness take him or take arms and join her again without question if this is the way it has to be.

So it is without question that he nods in acceptance and lets his mandible flicker in the first sign of amusement in a long time when she turns to him with a knowing smirk and asks. "Ready to give them some hell, Garrus?"


	7. Chapter 7

-Jane-

" _Garrus!_ "

Her screams are high and break half-way through the word with a sharp pain in her throat like speaking around shattered glass as she tosses the still smoking grenade launcher – smashed and entirely beyond repair after the frantic beating she put on others with it – and rushes to his motionless side.

Her boot slips in the sickening ocean of blue lapping around his body and she collapses at his side, her chest constricting at the sweet smell of his life spilling across the dingy floor. She clutches at him, grasping him to herself in an illogical need to keep this dying building from leeching anymore from him. Omega doesn't deserve anymore of his blood, it never did and she'll be damned if she just stands by and lets it steal it away.

"Garrus, stay with me," she pleas, not caring at the hot tears that fall from her eyes as she clutches him to her chest and presses her hand against the expanse of blue. Her hands shake as they unsuccessfully cover the massive wounds where his life seeps through her tiny fingers. She's always loved his towering size over her, the way he made her feel like the delicate thing she never truly was in all her life, but she screams intelligibly at the fact that her smaller hands may be the very thing that can seal his – and, in turn, her – fate.

The image through her tears is the kind of assurance of herself – the answer to her running questions on if she was  _real_  - she never wanted, could have never imagined receiving. He's the very image of her nightmare so long ago, his plates shattered and seeping deep blue while his mandible hangs loosely in her palm, and even the side of his upper body leaves trails of burning heat to steam into the dank Omega air.

She sobs hysterically, yelling out for someone to 'call in a fucking transport, now!', as she clutches him to her chest, the uninjured side of his face pressing into her neck, to desperately cling to the shallow rasps she can barely hear falling from his shattered mouth to fan against her clammy skin. Someone hands her a sheet or something from one of the bunks in the room and she snatches it away with a snarl before pressing it to his wounds, instantly staining the fabric a midnight blue and navy.

"Please, please, open your eyes. Don't leave me," she whispers, ignoring any outside interruptions from her useless team in hopes that any noise from him could spell a miracle she's in desperate need of.

She doesn't know if she can go on without him if he can't fight the pull of darkness she saw is his eyes from the moment she pulled off his helmet to reveal the one truth she could have ever hoped for in this universe. He may have been her support before ice ran in her veins and stole her breath, but now he was her reason to go on, to finally see the twisted freak-show science Cerberus did to her as anything but a violation. With him, she knows she could see it as the 'second chance at life' they all expected her to take it as.

He just had to hold on, to accept her as his rock and support and let her pull him back from the edge. They could pick up the pieces together, he just had to regain that fight she fell in love with.

A choking gasp and jerk of the body in her hold rips out a startled wail of pain, her heart running to a sudden and chilling stop in expectation of the worst, but she's left speechless when she feels the subtlest of shifts in her hands. She isn't ready for the movement from him, let alone the light stroke of shaking talon-tips that barely tickle the frayed ends of her disheveled hair, and she nearly drops him as she gasps before she recollects herself. She clutches his weak and trembling hand in the one of hers currently not trying to keep his life from flooding from his beautiful hide.

"That's it," she says around her sobs, her tears rolling over the tips of his gloved fingers and off her blue smeared chin to mix with the already damp and navy material in her grip. "Stay with me, Garrus. Don't give up." She presses her forehead to the top of his fringe as much as she can in their position. "I love you, Garrus."

Fingers twitch in her grasp in the most understanding he can manage, but she breathes out shakily with the fact that it's something, it's more than him just letting go, and she couldn't ask for anything better. She's already flooded his system with every bit of drug in her suit and within this facility he locked himself in and it isn't nearly enough for the injuries she can see through the waves of blue, but she doesn't need anything more than the sheer fact that he's  _alive_.

"Shepard." Her head snaps up at the lilting sound of Lawson's voice. "We need to get him out of here."

"You think?!" she snaps, holding him tighter to her body as if the woman will snatch him from her fingers. She doesn't quite want to imagine what is going to happen know that Cerberus' supposed plan to get him from her in the first place have failed horribly.  _Well, they might still get what they want,_  she thinks horribly before quickly cutting off that thought with a glare. "Get me a fucking lift or, so help me, I'll be making you three useless fucks carry him."

"That won't be necessary!" Jacob runs in the room, his breaths short, and approaches, looping his arms under Garrus' feet as he speaks. "Just got a transit that'll fit you, Archangel, and one driver."

"I'll go," Miranda says without room for any actual decision, but Jane allows it as the woman actually bends to help her stand without dropping the bleeding and barely conscious Turian in her hold. "Time is of the essence and I more equipped than anyone in case we need to perform any emergency treatment in transit."

"Absolutely not." Jane accepts Zaeed's offer to help carry her husband's upper body in the position that'll keep his head elevated – she thinks keeping the blood flow up works for Turians. "You don't know shit about Turian anatomy. You're just steering the fucking car." She swats the woman's hands away, not wanting the vile creature to touch Garrus for fear she'd suck the life from him like the leech she is. "So get your fat ass in the cab and not another word."

She knows her reasoning is irrational, that Chakwas could manage to talk Miranda through any procedures that may need to be done in transit to save his life, but she can't seem to force herself to trust the raven-haired woman. Jane wasn't blind when she was caught in his arms with his tongue half-way down her throat, she easily recognized the look in the deep blue eyes of the woman.

She didn't live the life she had for so long  _without_  learning the look of contempt and disgust in people's eyes, no matter the species or air of dignified importance and it was that look that condemned the operative to never have Jane's full trust or acceptance. Hate was a double-edged sword, after all, and if Lawson expected Jane to earn a sense of neutrality in her eyes, then the 'perfect' woman would have to do the same.

Surprisingly, the trip speeding through the levels of hell that was Omega passed by almost in a single breath. Although, she admits that that observation could be completely wrong as she was too absorbed in counting the unsteady breaths that rattled against her palms and out through his broken visage. His eyes never left hers, though dazed slightly in pain and whatever was flooding his system, and she couldn't keep back her light tears that left tiny trails of clear skin in the deep blue any one of their hands could have painted on her flesh as she treated their locked gazes as the only thing keeping her sanity from shattering into a million pieces.

Their arrival to the Normandy brought upon her more problems, as they insisted on prying her away from him. She didn't go without a fight, oh no, and nearly every crew member that tried to interfere and assist contain the distraught commander gained some kind of injury. It wasn't until Doctor Chakwas, with wisdom rivalling on any Asari Matriarch, took Jane's face in her hands, forcing green eyes to finally turn away from her mate, and promised to take care of him, promised to help him in his fight, that she relented, nearly collapsing against the nearest bulkhead.

That was nearly eight hours ago, with Jane having not left her place with her back pressed against the Medbay doors, and she doesn't know if the long period of no word means good news or bad. EDI -  _that fucking useless AI_  - hasn't told her shit about what's happening beyond the thick doors or tinted windows and she's already caused her knuckles to ache from constantly holding them in tight fists, ready at the slightest provocation to fly. Her head hurts, either from the constant smell on her body and armor of battle and the nagging proof of defeat that comes in blue or from continuously pressing her fists against her temples she has no clue, but she can't force herself to move from this position in fears that when she does, something disastrous will happen.

She hears the light click – click of boots she could have done without and scowls up just in time to see Miranda cross her arms at her chest. "Commander, you should get cleaned up."

"And you should invest in proper clothing. Any more trivial observations you want to get out because I just have a shit load rattling around."

Blue eyes roll as she huffs and holds up a datapad that she had been holding. "I was just about to go into the Medbay to discuss Archangel's treatment options with the doctor."

That gets Jane to her feet in record time, which surprises the other woman, and she easily snatches the pad from her light grip. She quickly runs over the information, but frowns at the fact that it's all mostly communications correspondence. "What the fuck is this shit, Miranda?" She tosses the datapad back into the operative's chest. "Garrus is dying in there and you're busy  _chatting_?!... I should just fucking shoot you, but I'd get more enjoyment out of smearing you across the walls."

Jane flares with dark energy, but Miranda sighs with exasperation, as if talking to a child, while she brings up a particular area of the information on her pad. "Actually, Doctor Chakwas was requesting permission to access some of the cybernetics we have her on the ship." Biotics fall flat and dissipate at the sense of relief in that request, but her hopes are easily dashed with the accented explanation. "However, I made her aware that those cybernetics are intended for you, not the Turian vigilante, and would require the Illusive Man's approval."

"I don't fucking believe you people," Jane spits and shoves the woman hard, her full armored weight easily knocking the arrogant bitch back a step. "Don't give me that shit and don't you  _dare_  give it to Chakwas." She points a finger in her face and doesn't care to tamp the dark energy that flows over her skin. "You are just afraid I'll be ever more willing to disobey you if I have him around."

"I assure you," she swats the finger away, "I am not as vindictive as you seem to think." Jane snorts at that. "Those synthetic enhancements are only designed for you, so even if the procedure was approved, it may not even make any difference. I'd rather not waste the valuable tech."

To keep herself from saying something that'll just lose her case, knowing she has to play this perfectly or else risk losing the love of her life – whichever one she may be on at this moment – she clenches her hands into fists at her sides and decides that, for him, she will grovel and lower herself like she never has before. "Miranda. We both know the odds of the tech not working are slim to none else Chakwas wouldn't have suggested it." A dark brow lifts in silent 'go on.' "Just… tell her she can use them. I'll do whatever you want from me… I'll lick your damn boots after you've stepped in varren shit. I'll blindly follow ever order you give me… Just, help him. Save him."

She closes her eyes, dropping her head in defeat, and struggles against the instinct telling her not to show this much weakness to someone who could just as easily slit her throat. "Cerberus may have taken my life by bringing me back without my knowledge. But I'll gladly sign myself over for  _his_." She lifts her gaze and stares straight into cold blue. "Don't do this, and you might as well have put that chip in because I can't say as I'll care all that much about this fucking galaxy."

Miranda narrows her eyes, obviously trying to test the validity of that statement. Sure, Jane probably wouldn't go upstairs to her loft and put a pistol to her head if the bitch still says no, but she certainly wouldn't mind it if a stray bullet in the field dropped her, wouldn't fight the returning pull of death like she would as if she had a  _reason_. Before her death, she knew he was the best thing in her life, but it wasn't until  _after_  that she realized she had finally found someone to give her the determination she needed to beat the odds the universe always seemed to through at her. Without him, she's just any old soldier, not the supposed symbol of human strength Cerberus 'needed' so badly to fight the Collector forces.

A light sigh escapes through glossed lips before Lawson looks slightly away. "EDI, inform the doctor that she has authorization to access the stock of cybernetics for Archangel's operation." She looks back to her commander as the AI signs off with an affirmative and nods towards her person. "You still should get yourself cleaned up, Shepard. There's no use for you to be sitting down here wallowing."

Any fight against the woman has drained from her body at the acceptance that she just sold her soul away, but she can't find reason to complain. Garrus means more to her than this pathetic excuse at life the three headed hound of hell has given her and, even is his decision at life when he awakes doesn't exactly fit in with her new reality, she will never look back at her agreement to the woman with remorse. Despite their odd circumstances of somehow defeating death, she has kept her promise to give him life, even if she failed horribly at keeping him safe in the first place.

Nodding in understanding, and a bit in defeat, Jane leaves the operative to continue on with whatever it is she does on the ship -  _spy for the Illusive Prick, most like_  - while she takes to the crew showers. She won't go back to her loft until the Omega dock crew manages to install the shutter over the window above her bed – Miranda still prickles at  _that_  idea with whatever idiotic reasoning thought the window up in the first place – so she has taken to using the shared lavatories. She doesn't yet know how she'll manage her sleeping arrangements, but she'll get to that when the time comes if the shutter hasn't been completed.

At least she has a small locker here with a set of casual clothing, another thing she won't have to bother going up-decks for, and she doesn't hesitate to start unlatching herself from the heavy plates of her armor. She keeps her eyes as far away from the earth-shattering blue caked onto the smooth black, not wanting to break down again after already spending nearly all day in pathetic tears like a child, and it takes a bit longer to fumble at the latches without eyes on the still unfamiliar kit. She barely lets the heavy parts of her suit hit the floor before she strips the thick black fabric of weaved undersuit and steps into the hot spray of the shower.

The sharp sting against her skin makes her gasp, her breath shaky, and she has to lean her hands against the wall as those stupid little emotions come roaring back. Over eight hours and she's still heavy in dry sobs at the scared look in his eyes, the unadulterated fear that perfectly mirrored her own of her existence, and the seeming calm in his icy blue orbs as he weakly traced her features over and over as she begged him to stay awake, to not fall under the sleeping spell of his draining blood.

Staring at the rivulets of blue that train down the skin that isn't hers, she scowls at the sight, at the fact that she isn't what he remembers. Somehow, she knows she isn't as good as she once was, broken beyond repair from the chill of space that snatched her from the sky, and she's afraid of what will happen when he wakes and the shock of their reunion fades into realization.

A low groaned scream erupts from her lips and she pounds her fists against the wall, cursing her weakness while he's fighting for his life, alone in the Medbay and under the knife. Perhaps she deserves the pain, the rejection, if she is truly this torn on her true self. He's suffered who knows what for two years, had to live whatever path that led him to that shithole called Omega, and she's here crying over a few missing scars.

_Missing scars…_

Sudden realization pales her face as she stumbles away from the wall, groping at her smooth skin around her torso and inwardly repeating pleas that fall on deaf ears. "No…no, no, no," she stutters and stumbles on the wet tiles as she claws at herself, her shattered mind finally realizing that Cerberus has taken more than her freedom.

Her bondmark scarring is gone. Completely absent from her skin and leaving only smooth expanse of fake costuming in her image and her nails leave red welts where she desperately tries to will them back, to force her skin to break in the shapes of her love's teeth.

She collapses in the downpour of water and gasps, her body drained from attempting anything else besides the defeated form of disbelief. She figured her tags were lost, and her rings gone to the horrible death with them, but she accepted it because, after all, her body was nothing more than chunks of flesh – 'meat and tubes' Jacob had said – and she couldn't expect Cerberus to have the decency to show anything personal of hers and amount of respect.

Her scars, though, were something they could never have. Something she'd never give away, no matter how destroyed her body could have been. Yet, here she is, skin welted and slightly bleeding from her searching nails' futile attempts to make real what never was on this new suit of skin on her soul.

"I want them back," she says weakly to the empty room. Her only sense of solace at the loss, at the absence of the one thing that could remind her of her lost happiness, is that, if whatever force that ruled the galaxy finally saw fit to give her some kind of reward for the shit she's been given, she would be given the chance to have him mark her skin again.

Hell, she'd let him scar her wherever he pleased, let him leave a roadmap across her minted flesh and truly make it hers with talons and teeth, because, then, she'd know she was really Jane. He's always been the one to know the true woman behind the various masks she created to shield her throughout life, even managed to see the Jane that she couldn't find in herself, and, if he accepted her once again, the loss of her old self wouldn't hurt as it does now. She could return to who she was before, and perhaps become more, if she could continue to see that spark of life and recognition she saw when she kissed him.

She doesn't want to hide anymore, she decides as she pulls herself to her feet and starts to dry herself. She was a fool to try and hide her connection to him and what did it get her? Being secretive didn't do shit when it came down to it because Cerberus only had to look at her personal files to find her marriage certificate and then they just rubbed the fact that they knew in her face by making her fear he was gone.

No, from now on, she will not deny their feelings. If they can prove to be the same people they were two years ago, she will not be stupid enough to force him to stand aside and pretend at distance, not after everything. If they are too different, it may hurt, but she will have no one to blame but herself for being so fucking foolish in the first place. No matter the outcome, he will always have a place in her heart and a side by her soul, and she will do anything to show him just a fraction of the love he had shown her so long ago.

Pulling on the stiff uniform – most likely just out of whatever package Cerberus shipped them in – she takes a deep breath to collect herself around her declaration. Tying her hair up and giving her form one last look in the mirror, she sets herself out onto the crew deck and smiles shamelessly at the green glow of the Medbay doors.

Rushing towards them, she stops just outside their sensors to take another deep breath to steady herself. Wiping any cumulated dirt from her uniform -  _which is ridiculous since I just put the damn things on_  - she gives a final nod to herself and steps forward and into the bright lights of the new Normandy's medical suite.


	8. Chapter 8

-Jane-

"Hello, Shepard." Chakwas has a bright smile on her face as she steps around the drawn curtain that cuts into Jane's view of the one she came to see. "I expected you much sooner."

At that bit of humor, Jane can't help the relieved snort that escapes. "Yeah, well Miranda ran me off. Plus, I guess I have to admit that it probably wouldn't be best for your patient to walk in with filthy armor."

"I'd hope you wouldn't," she says with a mock glare and motions to move closer and take a seat.

"So…" Jane glances at the curtain and bites her lip. "Is he going to be okay?" Chakwas smiles and she backtracks. "I mean, I know he's not  _okay_ , but…"

"Did the cybernetics take?" Jane nods. "Of course. He'll need some rest," she looked pointedly at the commander and Jane ducks her head with a smirk, liking the flawless way the older woman can seem to act like two years hasn't passed between them. "And he'll certainly have scarring, but it isn't something that can't be helped with the kind of technology we have available."

She releases the breath she didn't realize she's been holding until now. "Good… no, great." She smiles at the thought that perhaps he dodged the figurative bullet -  _the literal sure hit its target_  - and can't help another glance at the sterile barrier from the sight of him. "But, how did you get his surgery done so fast?"

A light and warm chuckle pulls her attention back to the silver-haired doctor, but the woman waves away the look of confusion on Jane's face. "It's funny… Miss Lawson had it in her head that I really cared if she approved of using the cybernetics." She smiles and crosses her hands in her lap. "I didn't. And I had already started installing them when I had found need."

Jane chuckles for the first time in a long time. "You cheeky bitch. Sorry," she adds to the raised brow. "Just never figured you for the kind of person to 'stick it to the man'. I'm impressed."

"Yes, well, it seems you rubbed off on me." She stands and waves Jane to follow. "Here, I know you want to see him and I'm sure he'd want you to be here. He probably won't wake from sedation for a while, yet, but I see no problem with you being by his side." Jane blinks rapidly to fit the wet feeling that'll show just how much she wants to be here, to be 'by his side', and she lets the doctor pull aside the heavy material enough to let the two enter the slightly darker section Chakwas has designated for Garrus.

Her steps come to an abrupt stop at the sight of him, thin-looking beneath the thick bandages wrapped over the right half of his chest and upper arm while the entire lower half of his face is held firm by some heavy weave of bandage that expands down the thinner hide of his neck. "Jesus…" she barely gets out as Chakwas hums in understanding and navigated the stricken woman to the bedside where a chair sits.

"It looks bad, I know, but like I said, the scarring will be the worst of it." She helps Jane take a seat and doesn't say anything when his hand is taken into a shaking, pale one where five fingers intertwine seamlessly with three. "With the cybernetic implants overlay in place, his mandible will function normally, his damaged hearing on that side will be supplemented, and his shoulder will retain its mobility. His skin-grafts have taken beautifully and the bandages are equipped with special treatments that aid in the growth of new tissue. Though the damage that managed to go through all the layers of his carapace in places means it won't regrow naturally, it won't affect his overall health and, like I mentioned about your own scars, we can devise a treatment should he choose."

Jane smiles at that. She never cared about her own scars and would've been fine leaving the expensive machine for someone who cared to purchase it for their vanity, but she would rethink it if he decided against his scars. She saw no harm in them - hell, might even  _like_  them once the bandages came off – but she didn't know how he'd react to something that could be considered 'disfiguring' in his own eyes. He'd still be the beautiful man she fell in love with in the first place no matter how he looked and a couple of scars from  _surviving a fucking rocket_  would make her think him anything else but a God damn badass.

She snorts at the thought that she have her ideas slightly skewed and grips a bit tighter on his hand, relishing the warmth of him she's missed. "Thank you for doing everything you did for him." Emerald eyes look up to the knowing smile of the doctor. "I owe you."

Chakwas dismisses that with a wave of her hand and steps towards the lit room where she'll most likely continue whatever work it is that keeps her busy or move on to find her much deserved sleep. "While I'll never say 'no' to appreciation, you never need to think you  _owe_  me for doing my job. After all, it's the least I can do after everything the two of you have done for everyone, not just myself. Just as you save the galaxy, I will always be here to patch you all up from whatever trouble you manage to get yourselves into."

Jane nods with a short laugh as the small beam of light disappears from the area when Chakwas leaves. It gives her the quiet to finally  _look_  at him since Omega, not to take in his injuries, but to see the man she thought she'd never see again, but is happy to be proven wrong.

He's still just as striking as she remembers, a bit fuller with muscles he's most likely built from wearing that heavy armor – armor she easily recognized as the one she had bought him  _before_  - and perhaps a bit more worn, but the maturity it brings looks good on him. One can blame her for having a sick mind for thinking he looks good after what hell he must have endured on Omega – Lord knows it was obvious from looking at him – but she only sees a survivor, a warrior, she always knew him to be.

"You ass," she jokes as she takes his hand to her lips, giving the knuckles there a light kiss. "You sure have a weird way of showing a girl a good time." She gives him a tight squeeze. "Though, I'll admit, nobody quite makes a reunion as entertaining as you." She scoots her chair closer to his bed so that she can lay his arm against the bed while still holding him -  _no use holding his arm in the air when he's supposed to be resting_. "Remember when I got out of N-1 training? We barely knew each other outside of messaging and you offered to let me sleep at your home instead of some lifeless hotel room with barely enough room to piss. Then there was that time I came back for a week and you jumped me on my table." She huffs a laugh. "I could never eat on that thing without thinking of us fucking on it. But then you can be so sweet, like when you surprised me after a year with that beautiful sketchbook-" She frowns. "God, I wish it survived the years."

She stops herself, instead focusing her mind at stroking his forearm with her free hand, her fingers caressing the smooth plates and slightly rough hide. "Even our mock-reunion when we starting chasing Saren was something else," she says to get her mind back on track. "Sure, we already knew we'd meet over it, but I never expected to walk in on that typical attitude of yours – and with your boss, no less." She smirks and looks up to his sleeping features. "Then the clinic? But I think Archangel has them all beat. Honestly? I never expected to find you there."

She lifts his hand to her forehead and closes her eyes. "Cerberus told me you were in the wind and I was so afraid that you had gone out like a fucking idiot and got yourself killed. And I almost  _believed it_ , dammit." A deep breath to stop the anger, it isn't needed here and it will do her no good. "But when I found that Archangel was a Turian sniper and saw you, that deep blue armor and ebony weapons, I knew it was you. You gave those bastards hell, Garrus."

"I aim to please," a deep rumble replies, shocking her into snapping her complete attention to the silvery plates and crystal blue eyes above her.

"Fucking shit…" His chest vibrates in amusement as he lightly tugs her hand in silent command that she blindly follows, standing and moving closer to him. She strokes the back of her free hand lightly against his uninjured mandible and he presses it back.

"So… how bad is it?" he jokes with a slight twitch to his brow plate, but she knows the sluggish movement is completely due to the heavy dose of whatever Chakwas used to put him out.

"Hell," she stops to take a breath to keep her voice from breaking, "I never married you for your looks." He laughs once, but the noise fades into a pained groan and she frowns. "Shit, sorry."

"That bad, huh?" He nudges against her hand and tugs against her again, silently calling her closer, and she smiles as she presses her forehead to his, her eyes watering at the pleased thrum from deep in his chest. "I guess it's a good thing you're stuck with me."

She huffs a relieved breath against the plates that still smell heavily of antiseptics, knowing that his admission may not solve all their problems but still confident that it's a needed step in the right direction. "Yeah, I'm definitely stuck with you. As much as you are stuck with me."

He nudges his nose plates to hers in another silent order, the motion and request so achingly familiar to what she so desperately wants and needs – what they both must want and need – and she doesn't hesitate to press her lips to his. He lets out a deep growling moan that she shamelessly echoes with her own, but she pulls away before it can deepen with she feels him wince at the movement.

"Not so fast, Garrus." She adds a soft kiss to his forehead for good measure to prove that she didn't just reject him, just hold him off while still wounded. "You just tried to eat a rocket and I think Chakwas would kill us both, slowly, if we mess up all her hard work because we are acting like horny teenagers."

He snorts in the back of his throat and nuzzles into her hair, letting her notice the simple fact that he's trying to stay as close to her as possible, as if trying to convince himself she's just as real as he is to her. It takes a moment, but she smirks when she feels the recognizable shift of his buried face that she knows all too well as him trying to stifle a yawn.

"You should get some rest," she says as she pulls away enough to caress a finger against the very edge of his injury but not touching for fear of causing pain. "We can talk about things when you get to feeling better."

He frowns, his free mandible clenching to his face and his brow plates dropping, and he tightens his hold on her. "Jane. What is there to talk about?" She waves her free hand to encompass the room, though, granted, that probably doesn't explain much. "Fine, I understand we should talk about what's happened on a  _professional_  level, but I get the feeling that you are expecting something more."

"Would you blame me? It's been two years, Garrus, and that's a lot to handle. For both of us." The fingers of her free hand tangle in the red tresses of her hair. "I don't know where we stand anymore."

He looks at her for a moment, a peculiar hum vibrating the uncovered hide of his neck, before he flicks his mandible in a drowsy smile. "Isn't that the fun part?" He tugs her hand up and nuzzles his untouched mandible against it, pulling a weak smile to her lips. "Don't overthink us. We've never let our heads get in the way before, why do it now?"

She nods with a weak laugh and gives him another kiss, her lips pressing against the smooth hide of his lips and she chuckles at the light swipe of his tongue against her lips right before he lets her pull away. "Okay, tough guy. Get some rest." She runs a hand down his crest and he purrs, the sound still a bit stuttered under sedation, and presses into her palm. "I'll make it an order if I have to."

He rumbles in amusement, but his eyes shut as he responds. "Haven't you heard? Archangel doesn't take orders, he gives them."

She leaves him with a laugh, the best feeling to come out of her live-less body since waking on that cold slab in some desolate lab, and leaves him to sleep. She'll be back later to sit by his side once she cleans up her armor – she's still a soldier, after all – and forces some kind of substance into her body.

Plus, she's pretty sure she'll probably have to check up with members of the crew to both confirm that, no, she isn't some insane maniac to fear after the little episode earlier and, if that doesn't calm their nerves, she's going to have to come up with something to apologize. These people  _are_ running her ship, after all, and it wouldn't do to have them pissed. Not now that she has something worth any value on it, something worth kissing some ass for to make amends.


	9. Chapter 9

-Garrus-

_Am I dead?_

It's the first thing he thinks – the statement of  _damn, my face hurts_  a close second – when his consciousness starts to cut through the thick fog he recognizes as not entirely sleep, or at least, not any kind of normal sleep he's used to. It takes more effort than he'd would have guessed to pry open his eyes, his body heavy from whatever must have knocked him out, and notices the familiar smells of sterilization chemicals that can only come from a medical facility.

 _I hate hospitals,_  he thinks as he inspects the area around him closer with the sparse light that helps to establish that, yes, he is in some kind of medical environment – and being given some sense of privacy if the drawn curtain is anything to go by.  _Well, this certainly isn't how I'd imagine my death._

He doesn't feel dead, though, and, in fact, he feels worse than dead. As his drowsy mind finally clears, the pain radiating across the right side of his body hits him full force, knocking the wind out of his lungs and would have knocked him off his feet if he wasn't already laying down. The fingers of his left hand rise on their own, with their own damnable curiosity, and trace over the thick bandaging that crosses across his chest and shoulder and up his neck to his face.

He's left speechless, thoughtless, as the tips of his talons and three fingers ghost over the edges of the huge patch of synthetic material over his face, the wounds it's obviously covering still tender. His injury is massive and starts just below his eye, flowing down his neck while holding his screaming mandible immobile, and wraps around the side of his head to stop just at the edges of his spinal plating.

The past floods into his system, white hot like the pain thumping with his heart beat against his shattered side, and he remembers just  _how_  he came to feel like he was just chewed up by a varren before being doused with flyer fuel. He was at the end, ready to die, when  _she_  suddenly showed up like a burning star and gave life to his limbs that hadn't been there in two years.

Also, she was  _real_  not just a mirage that bleed through his talons when he touched her. He had tangled his gloved hands – oh, how he wished he hadn't had those damned gloves on – and he could feel the slight resistance the strands presented because she had tied them up in that blasted bun. Then, he had  _kissed her_  and the taste of her was like a breath of energy, like the force of a stellar collision between their beings. Then everything was shattered, literally and figuratively, and his elation was eclipsed by the shadow of a gunship.

He never saw Tarak coming or he  _did_ , just not soon enough to dive into adequate cover to keep the searing heat and flying shrapnel from his body. He had avoided taken the explosives directly in the face, perhaps managing to save his life in the process where he had just been resigned to do the exact opposite just moments before, but he didn't get out completely unscathed, as his blind searching now told.

He would have even taken the out his body was offering in the draining blood and heat from his wounds on that cold floor, but she was there, her beautiful green eyes overflowing with salty tears and voice broken as she pleaded otherwise. Sure, he had heard her  _beg_  before, but those were never situations of life-and-death, namely his, and he certainly wasn't hearing any kind of amusement in her tone, so he tried, he really did, to listen to her, to follow her words, and finally do something right by her.

 _Apparently, it must have worked,_  he considered as he releases his wounded side, his continued groping not going to turn back the clock.  _Though, I guess I'm a little more damaged than before._

He hears the light shift of hydraulics and recognizes it as opening doors, but he doesn't move, still not knowing the situation of this medical room he's in. He doesn't recognize it, so that's already something piquing his suspicions, and he doesn't want to find out he's in some less-than-friendly situation since he's already wounded and without any weapons or armor.

When he hears the approaching footsteps, not rushed so perhaps not as hostile as he had suspected, but he doesn't move until he hears the softest noises he hasn't heard in such a long time, the soft hums of Jane most likely singing to herself. His chest tightens in joy at that simple noise, clearly light so as not to wake him, and he shifts to try and pull himself up and off this useless bed, but he only manages to pull a pained groan from his throat.

"Whoa, whoa," she says as she rushes through the curtain, ignoring the one that tangles in her foot and makes her entrance look like a glorified stumble. She quickly corrects herself and presses lightly against his chest where he isn't covered in bandages. "No marathons for you, I'm afraid."

He answers with huff, but lets her get him back down. So long as she keeps her hands on him, he'll go wherever she wants, do whatever she demands. He grabs her hand in his before she pulls away and pulls her close, making her snort in amusement before he all but drags her into the bed beside him.

"Calm down, calm down," she scolds with a smirk as she climbs up. "Damn, you're demanding when you're drugged up," she jokes as she settles against his side, pulling a purr from his chest as he finally gets the chance to nuzzle into the hair at the top of her head.

"I missed you." He leaves the manner of interpretation in the air, but she must hear the sad hum in his vocals because she presses tighter to his uninjured side, the arm around his torso tightening once, and ducks her head deeper into the space around his neck inside his cowl.

"I missed you too," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She lays a soft kiss against his sensitive hide and he rumbles in happiness, this being the first time in a long time that he ever felt such a sensation. "But you should be resting. It's only been a few hours since you got out of surgery."

He doesn't care to spend any more time here in this lonely room, dosed up on drugs that leave his head fuzzy and make him lose track of time – he's pretty sure he talked to her already since the blast, but can't quite place the words said – and just wants her, his wife. He's spent so long without her, so it is really so wrong to demand from the universe to stop waving her in front of his face while he has to be strapped to some bed?

He uses his stiff and slightly sore arm on his right to lift her chin up and out of his neck so that he can look her in the deep green eyes. "I can rest when I'm dead."

She snorts, but her smile in pained and her eyes cut away in some emotion – shame? "Tried that…wasn't like it's cut out to be."

He hums in understanding, not quite sure how he wants to take the fact that apparently death doesn't offer the peace as everyone believes, and runs the plates of his nose across the tip of hers. "Then how about we compromise? I'll rest, but you have to rest with me."

Jane's smile is warm, and actually free, even though her eyes are still a bit worn from whatever hell she must have gone through from the surrealistic fact of what she's gone through. He can't quite fathom how she's here, with him, and he doesn't know really what happened in those two years, but he absolutely trusts that this is her, despite the worry in her eyes he fears may be her own thoughts otherwise.

The woman in his arms, pressed against his side, is his bondmate, his wife, and he will not question the details that don't really mean anything to him in the long run. If she says she was dead as the Alliance claimed, then he believes her, and there is nothing that will change that. Even if she needs to be convinced, he knows his instincts are never wrong when it has come to the woman he loves, even when his mind is slow to realize it.

"If you want me here, then who am I to deny you?" She smirks and lifts a bit on her arm so that her face floats directly above his. He feels the soft caress of her fingers down the center of his plates, starting from the base of his center-most crest, rubbing over each notch in his nasal plates, over his lips where she chuckles and moves faster when he tries to catch her with his tongue, before dropping of the tip of his chin. This touch, this delicate stroke of fingers across his features, is something she's always done, something he's found so endearing and completely  _her_ , and he thrums deeply in contentment, his now-free left hand coming up to equally caress the silky strands of her loose hair.

"I can't believe all of this is really happening," she whispers softly as she repeats the motion with her hands again, this time letting her fingers move across his brow plate and over the various ridges across his face.

Confused, he presses his palm to her and holds her still so he can search her eyes. "The Turian is lost, here. You're going to have to fill me in on things."

He notices the irony in that statement just as she snorts and flicks a mandible at the comment he just knows is going to come. "I'm out two years and you're asking  _me_  for the low-down?" She chuckles at his exaggerated breath of exasperation. "Have you been living under a rock?"

He flicks his free mandible and lifts a brow plate. "Well, technically, I've been living  _on_  a rock. See, Omega's a-"

She groans loudly around her smile. "Please, no lessons." She twists her face in an exaggerated expression of discomfort and squeezes her eyes closed. "I give up, I'll tell you. Don't bring out the educational material." He chuckles and she relaxes up against his side again, her hand now stroking over the jut of his keel. "What I meant was that, given all the circumstances surrounding this clusterfuck I'm in, I'd never have imagined I found you again."

With his right hand, he clasps her smaller digits that have tightened into a fist on his chest, soothing the tension with rumbling purr of harmonics and light strokes against her smooth flesh. He knows her, knows that she wouldn't just take a difficult situation with such defeat as she is now. They chased Saren across the galaxy under scrutiny over both her people and her capabilities, not to mention the fact that no one believed her about the Reaper threat really at play, but she was still confident and strong as ever. Something is different about now, though, and he hates not knowing the whole truth in order to help her.

"Jane," he says, pulling her attention – and her questioning eyes – back to him. "What happened after the attack?" He doesn't need to elaborate – he knows it and she knows it – and she drops her eyes with an audible swallow, her hand relaxing in his as he moves to stroke along her palm and undersides of her delicate little fingers, the skin frighteningly cold in his grasp.

"I  _died_ ," she says and his body shutters, knowing it was true – his own body felt empty as only death could provide – but never really wanted to hear admitted in her own voice. "And I don't know how, but I was brought back. I was brought back by Cerberus to fight the Collectors."

He blinks, confused at that admission. He remembers Cerberus- how could he not- and he remembers the sick experiments the Normandy had found – and had to destroy. Cerberus  _was_  human-first, that was obvious, but everything they ever learned about the shadowy organization had to deal with weapons technology, not defying nature and bringing back a single individual from the dead. Not only that, but Jane was single-handedly the reason most of their work went the way of anything else in her path, usually with massive explosions and destruction.

"It's not that I don't believe you, but why would Cerberus bring back the one person who has every reason to see them destroyed?" he asks, though he's starting to wonder if maybe it was a good thing they hadn't managed to convince the human organization. They did bring her back, after all, so perhaps it's best that they seem to have the ability to  _overlook_ such oversights as to how many facilities they destroyed and evidence they erased.

"Hell if I know." She huffs and tightens her grip around his hand once before letting him return to his soothing motions. "And I still fucking hate them for all those twisted experiments we found, for  _Akuze_ ," she tilts her head against his chest, turning down her face so he can't see her from his position and says barely above a whisper, "but now  _I'm_  one of those sick fucking experiments."

His vocals growl at that, not liking the tone of depreciation in her tone, and he lets her hand go to jerk her head up to look at him. "Don't you dare… I know you, you wouldn't be here unless you had a damn good reason." His voice is low and rumbling, but he nuzzles against her to soothe the ire in his harmonics. He isn't mad at her, not really, but he isn't going to accept that he'd rather Cerberus  _didn't_  test the limits in this one instance, he will never deny the chance to have her again.

"Cerberus may have brought your body back, but that's  _all_  they've done. This fight? You are going to take out the Collectors because  _you_  choose, because you've always done what's right." He presses his forehead to hers and his chest vibrates deeply in emotion only she's been able to rip from him. "And I will follow you into hell no matter what. I will always be by your side," he flicks a mandible in a smirk, "human-supremacy group or not."

He purrs at her huff of laughter that tugs at the corner of her lips. "You're such a little shit." She presses back and rubs against his plates. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Not quite," he replies with a widening of his lop-sided smirk, his thrumming taking a different pitch that's she's only been ears to since meeting so many years ago. "I think there's still one thing we haven't yet caught up on," he purrs, his voice dropping as he lets his vocals growl through his words.

"Oh?" Jane tilts her head teasingly, but doesn't resist when he tilts his own head towards her, nudging her chin with his hand in encouragement. She shift up over him, resting her weight on one hand so she doesn't lay directly on his wounded form.

He growls approvingly when her lips press to his, already in open-mouthed, and he doesn't deny himself that sweet taste of her. The sparks of her taste that burst across his tongue send his firing pain to the back of his mind, cutting off any restriction his screaming face would have made to his explorations, and he rumbles in pleasure to her light gasp that puffs between her lips to fan against his plates.

She pulls back slightly and he's about to drag her back with his left hand in her hair, demand more than that, when he feels her lips pucker against his, slightly off-center, and she sucks lightly. The suction against his more sensitive lips plates makes him purr in response, which makes her smile, and she drops her attention to his uninjured mandible and wraps her lips around the outer prong, laving the tip of it with her tongue teasingly. The motion isn't as pleasurable as when she uses suction with her lips before moving to the flatter surface, but he reads into the action and knows it for the insinuation it is. The lapping of her tongue against the underside, across the delicate inner membrane, just cements the thought of what she's silently saying her mouth can do and he growls a moan as his plates shift beneath the scratchy blanket of the Medbay.

He knows he should be embarrassed with how worked up the simple actions are making him, even though it's been  _two years_  since he's felt any sense of arousal, and he tries to turn into her to distract her from how she's making him react, but she chuckles huskily and turns his seeking kiss into a simple peck of lips. "Easy, boy," she coos with a smirk between licks and sucking kisses along his facial plates. "You're hurt, remember? No strenuous activity."

"You better be joking," he growls with a glare.

She dives her tongue into his mouth, stroking hotly against his thinner one with a low moan from her delicate throat, before pulling away. "I would never think of being so cruel." She walks the fingers of her free hand not supporting her weight down the center of his cowl with a wicked smirk. "However, I don't think you can handle me in your _predicament_ , so we might have to improvise."

"I would certainly hope you two aren't doing what I  _think_  you're doing," a startling voice intones sternly and Jane actually jerks a bit, her eyes widening at the sudden surprise.

Garrus has a moment to try and question how he knows that voice, the rolling way the speaker's accent affects certain words, but he can't come up with a name before Jane bites the tip of her tongue as she smiles guiltily. "Why, Doctor Chakwas," she says, but doesn't take her hand off him, just away from traveling to where he really _needs_  it. "Your timing is impeccable."

"Uh, huh." The older woman sounds unimpressed, but she grants them the decency of not drawing back the privacy curtains. "Do I need to restrict you from coming into the Medbay, Commander?"

Like a child got by their parent, Jane actually emits a tiny squeak noise – adorable, though he'd never remind her of it for fear of retaliation – and drops down to lay against his side. "No, no. We're good, just catching some sleep."

Chakwas chuckles, but the footsteps that he was too distracted to hear before, travel further away while still staying within the room because he doesn't hear the swish of the doors. He shrugs at the woman's presence, not really caring after so long if she carries out her threat, he feels fine and he certainly isn't going to let a little ache get in the way of enjoying his mate.

Nuzzling into the hair atop her head with his chin, he purrs at her imploringly and adds the deep thrum he knows she loves to hear from him and never fails to drag out the most addicting reactions from her. Just as he guessed she would, she shivers lightly with a little gasp, but she looks up with an accusing glare, swatting lightly at his chest.

"Stop that, you," she whispers. "Chakwas just caught us."

"I'm okay with that," he purrs back just as softly and her eyes widen. "Really, Jane, you think I haven't learned to take things as they come?"

She snorts into his chest to try and cover the noise from the other person in the room overhearing. "I never knew Archangel would give you an exhibitionist streak."

He shrugs at that, flicking his mandible dismissively. "Call it being opportunistic," he jokes, but he knows that whatever she was _intending_  will have to wait.

It isn't like he doesn't want to, his pain is nothing compared to the bliss touching her, hearing her, tasting her, gives him, and he really doesn't care who knows or who happens to hear them anymore. His years of darkness have definitely shifted his priorities greatly and he no longer wants to delay his time with her because he never knows when his reality will shatter in his hands at the slightest chance of him looking away. At least, if the worst does happen, he knows he won't be left behind to try and find the will to go on. If death wants to reclaim his wife, he's damned sure it'll only be because he's right beside her in the cold hands of eternity.

"Look, you must be tired," he offers with a brush of talons through the red strands of her hair and a rumble when she nuzzles deeper into his shoulder in return. "Why don't we leave the rest of our reunion until we don't have any company?"

"Not until you're actually feeling better?" He shrugs and she chuckles, but she runs her hand lightly over the bandage across his chest. "I guess that's as good as it's going to get, huh?"

"It'd be an awfully boring relationship if we agreed."

"Ass," she snorts. Yet, despite her verbal disagreement, her body reveals her true feelings as she stretches out into a comfortable position and lays her head against his shoulder, her hand splayed across his keel.

He has to take a deep breath to steady himself at the reality, the surreal feeling, that having her in his arms once again – even just doing something as simple as going to sleep – gives him. It's something he never thought he'd ever get to feel again, get to be a part of outside of the delusion hallucinating of an addicted madman, and he would go through everything, the pain, the loss, the defeat, all over again to be where he is right now.

It is with that admittance that Garrus gives his wife's head one last nuzzle and light kiss before letting the heavy exhaustion of injuries and painkillers drag him back into a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow they'll get the chance to finish what they started, but for now, he's perfectly contend with holding her.


	10. Chapter 10

-Jane-

When Jane left Garrus resting in the Medbay to start her day of duties, she had happily received the news that they had been given 'permission' into the quarantined plague zone by Aria, the glorified queen of hell. Though she knew the term was merely meant to make her feel good about being under the Asari's figurative thumb, she would take it as a win – the woman did unknowingly happen to lead her back to her center, after all, so what harm could come from going into the plague zone to find their Salarian geneticist?

"Chambers, send out a ping to the ground crew to meet me for a debrief," she says around her tasteless breakfast bar as she reads through the last minute information of data collected about their situation in the Gozu District. Apparently whatever is causing the illness to spread hasn't been controlled, but it seems like Aria is getting tired of waiting.  _She probably expects me to get the professor's ass in gear fixing up the mess so she can move back in._

"Please, Commander, call me Kelly." Jane looks up with a raised brow to see the young Yeoman place a hand on her own chest in placation.

"You  _do_  know that isn't going to work," she responds with a smirk. She actually got along pretty well with the woman once she made it obvious her head wasn't up for discussion. The woman is a bit odd in her thinking that she can solve whatever emotional or mental damage her patients may have with what's between her legs, but Jane can't blame her for finding fun in it. Hell, before Garrus, she too didn't see any problem in casual sex without attachment, but now she has someone she can both rely on  _and_  have absolutely amazing sessions in bed with.

"I only offer it to not depersonalize our interactions." The Yeoman smiles and offers hand for the trash of Jane's breakfast.

"Still, wouldn't you like to know my  _preferences_?" She misses this, the ability to talk meaninglessly about nothing of any real consequence. Everyone here on this ship is too stiff and serious about their mission. Of course she realizes what's at stake, but is it really necessary to constantly remind themselves of the odds and not just let them live it up? "I like a tall, handsome man that can knock me off my feet with a good leg-sweep, loves long walks in dark alleys in search of trouble-"

Chambers smirks and raises a brow, easily catching on. "Really? Darn… I guess I'll have to take my efforts elsewhere." She ponders a moment before twisting her face into the model of innocence. "Do you think Garrus is feeling better?"

Jane snorts and swats at the woman as she darts away, seeing straight through what the counselor is getting at. Of course she'd know, she's far too observant – or nosy, Jane isn't quite sure which – for her own good and she was bound to be given the same information in her files that lead the Illusive Man and Miranda into knowing of her marriage. It would be stupid on Cerberus' part if Chambers was supposed to do her job and deal with Jane's fucked up head if she didn't know the whole truth, even if Jane will never use her services much beyond being her glorified secretary.  _At least the girl knows how to take a joke, I was afraid I'd die of boredom whenever Garrus fell under sedation being around so many assholes who have nothing better to do than lecture me about my inability to constantly bury myself in pointless paperwork._

"Afraid he's taken, Chambers," she says as she makes her way towards the lift, calling out when she rounds the corner, "but I'll be sure to pick another one up for you while I'm out. Maybe a nice gold, then we'll be opposites!" She chuckles at the Yeoman's laugh from the mess as the doors shut and leans her head back against the cold metal wall.

She knows last night in the Medbay must have done her more good than she would have imagined. The simple action of sleeping beside her husband, even beaten as he was, seemed to have lifted a bit of the weight that's been bearing down over her shoulders since her reality shifted like wet paint. She still feels some of the numbness of confusion in her limbs, the slight disassociation that comes from being so different than she remembers, but he's  _here_  and so real beneath her fingers.

The eeriness of everything, waking up after  _knowing_  she suffocated in the cold vacuum of space – she still can feel the pain and burning heat in her body – to fact that she somehow isn't as dead as she believed, then finding out she owed her life to the very people who nearly had her killed on Akuze or when she found their facilities, it all seems to dissipate in his arms. Her body doesn't feel as cold when she pressed to his side, her skin didn't feel as artificial under his hands, and she can't help the light fluttering in her chest that automatically makes her less willing to rip off anyone's head who manages to make eye contact.

 _Who knew his name of Archangel is so fitting?_  She muses as the doors open onto the CIC. Just being in his presence has seemed to temper her anger and distraught and make her truly believe for the first time that this mission may not failing in flame and destruction exactly like it had begun over Alchera.

As a child after her mother had died, she often would sneak into the Church down the street from her former home to escape the elements that proved too strong for her small form. During all those nights staring up at the colorful windows as she drifted to sleep she would try to decipher the stories they depicted only to find they told nothing but stories of some nonexistent maker to help the weak deal with their lives. 'God' meant nothing to her, just a word used for something to cope with the unimaginable, but she never would have imagined that she'd actually meet, actually hold in her hands, something that was an actual manifestation of all those hopes and dreams depicted in stained glass.

She may never come to believe in a higher force at work in the universe – her own empty death only helped to prove her criticism – but she does believe in him, in  _her_ Archangel and that's a good enough reason. Let the others have their Maker, their Goddess, Enkindlers, Spirits, and whatever answer to their prayers, she has all she'll ever need.

She steps through the large doors of the conference room to see the three humans of her ground team assembled – Garrus is logically still in the Medbay and obviously not fit for this mission both due to his health as well as because he's one of the species affected by the strange plague. Jacob salutes swiftly and she waves it off, wondering how much longer he's going to salute a  _former_  Commander on a, technically, civilian ship, but doesn't say anything in reprimand because it just isn't worth it to get frustrated over something that isn't doing anything but making him look too professional.

"Alright," she addresses the three. "Her highness has seen fit that we should be allowed access to go after Solus." She tosses the datapad on the table, its contents available for anyone curious. "Massani, your assault rifle sounded like shit back at Garrus' base, so I don't want you at my back until you get that thing cleaned."

"Damn gun's clean enough to eat off of," he interjects with a scowl, placing his hands on the smooth wood of the table's edge, and she shrugs.

"Still, you really want to insist on following?" She smirks and raises a single red brow as she crosses her arms. "You don't get paid on commission, you know."

He barks a laugh, pushing himself off the table and into a relaxed stance. "Now that you mention it, I think I'll refer to you." He nods with a smirk, his silver eye squinting. "You  _are_  the fucking Commander, after all. I'm just a damned merc."

Miranda rolls her eyes with a sigh, clearly not amused but she doesn't respond on the matter, instead moving the conversation along. The effort to try and get the two to take the issue seriously obviously not worth it. "So, Jacob and I will be going with you into the quarantined district." Jane gives a nod to continue, reading in the tone of the operative's voice that she has more to say. "Did Aria give any inclination as to what we'll be up against?"

 _Right, Aria insisted on talking to my only yesterday, for whatever stupid reason – probably something to do with her 'image of power' or such crap._  Jane nods and slides the datapad across the table and Miranda stops it with a hand before picking it up. "Gozu District was being run by Blue Suns at the time of the outbreak," she says to the room as Lawson reads, to save time of _everyone_  getting overly curious. "There could be stranglers of the merc company there, but I doubt they're going to do much besides cough up a lung or bleed on us. Still, suspect scavengers to have already moved in to close the gap." She waits for a nod from the two who will be joining her. "Right… any additional questions?"

The swish of doors behind her back is her answer and she turns to see who it is, her brow's drawn in confusion. "Yeah, just one."

"Damn," Jacob huffs in disbelief at the sight of Garrus –still intimidating in full armor with guns strapped to his back despite the bandages - standing tall within the open doors. "You're one tough son of a bitch."

Her husband shrugs at the remark. "Not the worse I've been called."

She's known him long enough to know his posture isn't exactly one of being pissed, but definitely not the loose posture of relaxed or his trademark tilt of his good mood, so she knows he's definitely upset with something. Radiating from his body is a feeling she's only seen from him when they are alone, without the restrictions of superior and subordinate, and she barely realizes that the others must feel it too as they shuffle to collect their things and dismiss themselves.

She can barely believe that, her eyes blinking a few times as she watches them leave, and she doesn't really know what to make of this new discovery of her husband. She no longer sees the façade of loyal soldier on his plates and, instead, feels like she's once again looking into the eyes of her equal, her mate. Sure, the crew mostly likely either already know or will know of their relationship, but she isn't sure how they would react to something like this new Garrus, the added leadership of Archangel.

He waits until the doors close behind his back, his crystal eyes never leaving hers, before the icy orbs narrow slightly. "You really thought I wouldn't notice you going out while I was under?"

She returns his glare and pokes him on the chest. "It wasn't like I was sneaking away or anything. I just got access to get myself Solus and I'm not going to wait for Aria to change her mind." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Besides, do you really think you should be out of the Medbay?"

"I'm certainly not going to let you go out on Omega without me."

"Are you insane?!" Her eyes widen and she throws her arms up in the air in disbelief. "The mercs were just hunting Archangel and you want to  _go back out there_? Not to mention the fucking  _rocket_  hole in your fucking face!"

He growls lowly and takes a step closer, just letting the ridge of his chest plate brush against her chest if she takes a deep inhale. "You seem to think that I'm not capable of protecting my identity. I lived on Omega for  _two years_ , Jane. I know how to cover my tracks."

"It still doesn't change the fact that it's a God damn plague that  _kills_  Turians and, last time I checked, you're a Turian, Garrus." She grips the lip of his cowl and jerks him closer. "I'm not risking you catching it just because you're too damn stubborn."

He swats her hands off with a deep growl and she nearly gasps at the harshness, but the sound is sucked out of her lungs when he cups her face in his gloved talons. "And I'm not risking you going out without me," he says with rumbling vocals like thunder that drown out the ire in his voice. "I let you go alone once, and I can't do it again."

He purrs as he nuzzles his nose plates against hers and she closes her eyes, understanding what this is all about. It isn't a challenge in her leadership skills, the butting of heads of two leaders under one roof, or plain insubordination. This is him  _pleading_  and she can't stop her hands from lifting to cover his hands at her cheeks, torn between protecting him physically or helping his soul to mend.

She discovers that, deep down, there isn't really much of a decision. If she denies him this, she knows he will go one without her approval and it may leave a wound that will never heal, ripping open the raw wounds she can't see caused by the two years apart. However, if she accepts his demand, he may get sick and she can't bear to think of ever losing him, but wouldn't this Salarian geneticist be the best one to help if he does? Is her fear of losing him more devastating than her mate's fear of losing her _for the second time_?

 _No, it isn't_  she decides as she nods lightly against the pressure of his face. "Okay, Garrus." She opens her eyes and clasps her fingers around his uninjured mandible – not painfully, but enough to get his attention. "But if you so much as feel a tingle in your God damn throat, you say something to me. Understand? Do be stupid and get yourself killed because of a fucking super-flu."

He flicks the mandible in her hand in a smirk, even if his eyes are still a bit shadowed by emotion, and she can't seem to decide if she likes this new, insubordinate Garrus. "Aye, aye, ma'am," he says with mock salute in his tone.

With that, she comes to the conclusion that, yes, she does like this new Garrus. She knows they've changed- he no longer willing to take a back seat to her command though still able to follow orders and she lacking some in her usual confidence though she's feeling it returning- but she doesn't believe it's that much of a bad thing. She never really liked making him sit back while she had to lead alone and she wonders just how he'll react once he hears of her plans to no abolish the 'secrecy rule' from the first Normandy.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

"Gas, maybe? No. Spreads too slow. Airborne virus? No. Slower-"

Jane needed to slow things down -  _way too soon after blasting through Vorcha for this, buddy, time to cool your jets_  - so she throws a hand up to stop the Salarian professor mid-stream. "Whoa, whoa… Breathe man, breathe. We already have some samples from one of the colonies hit, so have at it."

"Always breathing. Command irrelevant," Solus intones and Jane has to stop herself from sighing, wondering just long it'll take for either the Salarian to understand her speech or for her to use actual English around the other species.  _Impossible,_  she figures,  _but at least it's entertaining._

She watches the older man's head bob to-and-fro in search of the electronic voice not echoing through the room, his eyes squinting and widening as he tries to locate the source. "Who's that? Pilot? No. Synthesized voice. Simulated emotional inflections." He raises a thin hand to his chin and it gives her the chance to see that one of the crests on his head is missing, but she decides to save that curiosity for later. "Could it be…no. Maybe. Have to ask. Is that an AI?"

"Yep," she replies with a smirk and shrug. Not much she can do about EDI if Solus doesn't approve, but might as well let the hyper bastard know. "Her nickname is EDI. HAL just didn't have that ring to it."

"HAL? EDI? Joke perhaps? Facial expression depicts humor. Joke, then." He nods in finality and Jane snorts at the expression on his face, wondering if the man understands humor. "But and AI on board? Non-human crew members? Cerberus more desperate than I thought."

"You think that's cool, wait until you hear what they did to me-"

"Professor," Lawson interrupts with a pointed look over at Jane, which she only receives a shrug for. "The Collectors have abducted tens of thousands of colonists. This goes above just humanity's interests and we'll do whatever it takes to stop them."

Mordin nods emphatically, his eyes narrowing seriously at the facts presented. "Yes. Of course." He looks to the ground team that are all present for the debriefing before he starts to pace again. "Need to identify, neutralize technology. Need samples." He stops and looks back to the group. "Which way to the lab?"

At that, Jacob gives a quick nod in understanding towards Jane before walking towards the professor and the doors at his back. "Right this way, Professor."

Miranda follows after shortly after saying something about a report to the Illusive Man. They couldn't pay Jane enough to sit down and suffer through that with the Illusive Prick, so she doesn't keep the operative. If there's one thing besides her resurrection she owes the taller, curvier woman, then keeping her from having to spend any more time talking to  _that_  pompous asshole is it.

"So," a deep voice says at her side. "Collectors abducting colonists…" She turns to him with a raised brow and he smirks. "You know, when I said I was with you, I didn't think we'd be chasing something just as mysterious as Reapers."

"What did you think I meant when I said it's like old times?" She crosses her arms over her chest as he approaches her. "You think I was pulling your leg?"

He hums, a short noise before it cuts off, and he drops his head next to her ear. "I can think of something else you can pull."

She scoffs and slaps harmlessly at the metal of his chest plate. "Jesus… that was horrible."

He shrugs. "Blame the meds. Still did the trick." He accentuates his statement by breathing deeply against her bound hair above the shell of her ear. "And don't bother denying."

"It wasn't your horrible attempts at seduction that did it," she admits with a smirk and he purrs, wrapping his arms around her to pull her against him.

"Oh? What was it?" She shivers at the hot stroke of his rough tongue at the base of her ear and her hands move on their own, one moving to press behind his fringe with the other clasps his cowl in a death-grip to keep him close.

"I already told you I love the way you move on the field." He hums and a hand takes her head to tilt it back to give him more access. "But now… now you just command the field."

He chuckles. "No,  _you_  do. I'm a sniper. I stay well away from the field, you know."

His lick up her neck steals her breath and she gasps. "You know what I mean," she replies breathily. She doesn't know what it is with the way he seems so demanding, so in control of her, but she is loving every moment, feels the way she's practically humming between her legs.

Seeming to know her dilemma, he clicks in her ear. "Keep going," he says with heavy vocals before clamping his teeth against the skin at the collar of her shirt with enough pressure to set her at the thin line between pain and just pressure.

She swallows roughly - crazy for always getting hot from the risk he poses but not finding a care to be sane in the matter – and shifts her hand to grip the center crest of his fringe. He growls deep in his throat, but doesn't toss her hand off, instead moving to run sharp nips and licks over her pulse.

"You're not just some subordinate officer anymore. You're a leader," she manages to get out between the bloom of sweet heat in her core. "I ought to punch you for pulling that move before the mission."

He snaps his lip plates sharply against a spot on her neck and she yelps, not in pain but in surprise for just how  _amazing_  that felt. "You know I'd never openly challenge you in front of your crew," he snarls in her ear, his breath out and rhythmic with his underlying thrumming. "Alone, though? I won't stay silent."

His hand around her hip dips to the front of her pants and she hears the snap and click of her button coming undone and falling to the floor. She closes her eyes at the sensations his clear dominance – from the tone in his voice, to the way he all but towers over her, to his hands all but holding her immobile against him – and wonders if she should be cursing herself for taking so much pleasure in this. Sure, it isn't a new concept for the two to constantly shift their dynamics, but it was always  _in private_ , between just the two of them and away from any possible prying eyes.

"Garrus," she breathes around the electricity his hand creates as it dips into the front of her pants and slips under the waistband of her panties. If she could, she would tip her head back and silently scream to the figurative skies, the touch of him that feels like ages have gone by since she experienced it last, but she has to resolve to clenching her eyes tightly in his tight grasp around her skull. Finally, she manages to finish the rest of her warning, though her voice barely holds a fraction of true argument. "We can't do this in here. Someone could walk in."

"Let them."

He growls approving at the betraying jerk of her hips in his palm - _damn you, body, who's side are you on_  - and she bites her lip to keep the moan from escaping her lips when she feels the slip of his finger into her. She'd wonder how he got his gloves on and rubber talon guards on if her mind wasn't on the wonderful shocks he's causing, but she does get her hand at his collar to stroke up his neck, eliciting a purring growl.

They should be bothered by the lack of privacy they both know exists in this room, both from the unlocked door and the given monitoring equipment, but they've both waited so long for this. Suffered too long without the feel of the other in the closest form of intimacy they could think of and she doesn't want to fight him, doesn't want to be the voice of reason, so she gives in and lets her desires guide her. Let the Illusive Man see for all she cares, their marriage isn't a secret and was never really well hidden to begin with.

With her mind made up, she lets her body slacken in silent acquiescence and relishes the feral rolling rumble that erupts from her husband's metal encased chest and fans across her saliva slicked neck. Within, he crooks his finger just so, causing her to gasp and moan while her hand tightens around his crest. Turning her head for her, he presses her lips to him, shoving his tongue into her mouth in tandem with a hard shove of his hand and she lets him roughly wrap his thinner appendage around hers.

Her hands trail down his armor, left stopping once to trace the jagged edges of damage before continuing on, and she lets him hold her as she searches blinding for the latches of his codpiece. He presses into her hands imploringly and she smiles around their locked tongues before popping off the catches and letting the heavy casing fall to the ground. As she works at the opening of his underarmor, she feels him jerk her own pants down and doesn't care at the short rips here and there or remark at the shuffle she has to do to get her shoes off.

She barely gets his clothing open when he jerks away, taking her wrists in one hand and backing her up. Her back hits the wall roughly, but her lips are claimed again before she can even think and he's diving his textured tongue into her mouth with a moaning growl as he holds her arms up against the wall above her head. She reads his nonverbal command and lifts a leg up onto his armored hip, gasping at the feeling of his free hand's knuckles brushing against her oversensitive center as he releases himself the rest of the way.

With a deep rumble that vibrates up his throat and into her own mouth through their connected limbs, he grabs her leg and pushes in. It's slightly painful – this body obviously not used to him – but he manages to slow himself to the point that his entrance doesn't hurt her and she hums in appreciation, pushing her chest to press closer to him. She just wants to feel him against her, even if she's clothed and he's armored because it's the sheer thought of being as close as physically possible.

She gasps, breaking their kiss, when he starts to pump in and out of her. She moans at the sensations of his shape, the glorious curve and underside of textured ridges, and latches her mouth to his mandible in efforts to try and return the pleasure his movements are giving her. He holds himself open, silently requesting her to lick the underside, and she nips her teeth against him before giving him what he wants.

With his pace harsh and hands pinning her, she can nothing more than sit and accept his motions. She knows that, at this pace, she wouldn't have even been able to keep up with his thrusts, but she obviously doesn't need to when she feels that tell-tale tightening in her belly and sees his tongue lash out against the air that points to them both being so close. She can, however, tighten her leg that's thrown around him and pull him closer and it's then, with that little shift in angle and deeper penetration, that she collapses under the weight of her release.

He presses his mouth to hers just as she screams, swallowing the sound and keeping it from escaping, and moans in turn. His hips stutter against hers before he presses hard against her one last time, his hot fluids pumping deep into her. He grinds slowly against her to drag out both of their climaxes, only pulling away just when the overstimulation starts to fade into a more pleasurable desire. Once in the conference room is bad enough and she doesn't want to risk a second go, so she doesn't complain -  _for once_.

"I was thinking," she says as she moves to pull back on her pants. "As soon as they install the shutter on the fucking window, I'd like you to live in the Loft with me."

He smirks and offers hand to steady her when her weak legs have her stumble half-way through pulling up her pants. "So that's what that meant in the elevator. A whole deck? A little excessive, don't you think?"

"Or you could just sleep in a bunk," she throws back and he cringes.

"No thanks. I'll suffer the private deck."

She snorts at his flick of mandible and pats some of her hair down, trying to tame the strands that are sticking in all directions out of her bun. "Well, I still have to see about doing something about the bed if you move in."

She feels him press up against her side, wrapping him arms around her torso as he nuzzles against her temple. "I'd be honored to share whatever bed you'd have me in. Even one of your hard human ones."

She just sits and listens to his thrumming purr against her temple for a moment, one hand over his around her while the other strokes softly against his face. A thought comes to her mind and she snorts, drawing a stop to his vocals as he tilts just enough for her to see him raise a brow in question. "You know Chakwas is going to strap you to a stretcher when she finds out about you getting sick on Omega."

" _I'm_  certainly not telling her about it. Are you?"

"I don't think I'm the one you need to worry about." His head tilts in confusion and she smirks, giving a nod towards the direction of the Normandy's laboratory. "He's awfully jabbery, isn't he?" she offers.

His eyes widen as his body stiffens a moment. "Damn, the Salarian." He presses his mouth to her cheek in a rendition of a kiss and purrs. "Got to go. I have a certain professor I need to speak with before I get handed over to the ship's doctor." She chuckles and he presses his forehead lightly to hers. "Come find me in the Forward Battery later."


	11. Chapter 11

-Jane-

_Shepard, we've established a purchase agreement for Subject Zero with Warden Kuril. It'd be best to make Purgatory your next destination so that Jack's transfer proceeds smoothly._

When she reads the message on the datapad in her hand, all Jane can think is  _yeah, as smoothly as a Krogan's ass. Since when has anything gone as planned?_  Sure, she'd just love the chance for a simple shaking of hands and exchange of goods – even if 'goods' was too delicate a word for practically trading  _people_ , but she isn't willing to go into  _that_  conversation just yet. However, if finding herself with her proverbial pants down too many times has taught her anything, it's to expect the worse and keep her ass from hanging out in the open when she's proven right.

At least she received word either that the installation of the shutters above the viewport in the Loft was completed, as she didn't know if she could take another night sleeping in a tiny Medbay bed with a two meter Turian where one wrong turn could end up with either of them sprawled on the floor and she sure wasn't going to sleep under the damned window, docked on Omega or not. Only thing missing was a certain Turian with which to try out the Captain's Quarters to the full extend, but the two hadn't spoken since their tryst a handful of hours ago and she hasn't found a chance to check out his new station until now.

The battery doors slide open with a low swish and she smiles at the wide expanse of his back it reveals.  _Leave it to him to find the biggest gun on the ship and claim it,_  she muses as she steps in the dark red of the gun's housing, the doors closing behind her back to leave the two in the deep thrum of the cannon.

"Jane," he says, though he doesn't turn to her until a moment later when the orange glow of the gun's interface powers down. "I needed to ask something of you before we leave Omega."

"Well, ask and you shall receive," she replies with a smirk and a wave of her hand.

He hums thoughtfully, and she clearly sees his mind is somewhere else. "There are some loose ends I need to tie up and, luckily, it seems that I may be able to accomplish just that." He leans against the inactive panel at his back and crosses his arms. "I just received word from some of Archangel's last remaining sources that the mercenary groups have finally cleared out of the apartment building."

"Wait a minute," she interrupts. "You can't be serious about thinking of going back there. Garrus, you just went toe-to-toe with a missile less than forty-eight hours ago and you want to go  _back_?"

"I owe it to them, Jane." His voice lowers with a deep rumbling undertone. "I can't just leave my team to the scavengers."

Her ire at the notion dissolves instantly. Who is she to deny him the closure when she herself would have wanted the same? Nobody deserves to rot away in some dark and abandoned building and stripped of any valuables. She sighs and nods in understanding, going to his side to listen to their options – of which she knows there are few in such a situation. "What do you suggest we do? See if we can send their bodies to their loved ones?"

He hums in the negative and shakes his head. "No. Odds are, their bodies are either already gone, taken by the mercs as sadistic trophies, or they  _are_  still there and just missing their armors and tech. Either way, most didn't have families and if they did, I could never run the risk of putting them in danger through association or let them see what the mercs did to them." He drops his head with a deep breath. "No… all I can give them in the assurance that they won't be left to be desecrated by the bastard scum of the station. They deserve better than to be picked apart by damned Vorcha."

She keeps quiet at that, not sure if she likes the options he's left for them. She knows Omega, knows a station so uncaring for its citizens' wellbeing wouldn't give a damn about the care for the dead. Hell, she saw what had happened to those who fell victim to the plague when they went to help Mordin.  _I don't know if it's a good or bad thing that I've become used to the smell of burning bodies_ , Garrus had said and damn if she didn't  _know_  what he intended for his late team.

Her husband seems to sense her unease and thrums soothingly, trying to calm her, before he relaxes his arms, letting the one brush against her at his side. "I know they all had encrypted footlockers. If anything, I doubt the mercs would have found where I hid them. And if they did, I doubt they'd have been able to crack Vortash's locks in the time they've been there."

She smiles weakly at the thought of a bunch of mercs too stupid to crack a code – which is pretty likely considering what she ran into while trying to pretend she was a freelancer – and lays her hand over his. "And, we can always use Cerberus' money to send their things back home," she offers to gauge his reaction.

Thankfully, he understands and turns to her with a flick of his good mandible. "I take it you're willing to help me?" She nods and he gives her hand a single squeeze before lifting from the panel. "Then you should get some gear. There's no way in hell you're setting foot on Omega without armor or weapons."

It doesn't take her long to get her armor on and her weapons prepped -  _one good thing about going out in the middle of the ship's night cycle_  - and she meets Garrus at the airlock. The shift in his demeanor is obvious from the moment she sees him across the CIC, but she knows better than to force the issue or push at whatever method he may have taken to aid himself in coping with returning to the place that holds memories of two years. He doesn't need her to question as they ride the transit to his old base of operations – she had taken her own loss with denial for years after Akuze – when the best she can offer is the sole fact of being there, of offering silent support.

When they reach the far end of the broadway - the sight so familiar, yet different, from the one she had before she knew  _he_  was Archangel – and she stops to speak her mind. "Hey," she calls over the cab as she sees him climb up and out. "Let me go in first to make sure the mercs really have cleared out. You can stay back here and cover me through your scope."

His eyes narrow and she can swear that, for a moment, she's looking into the cold eyes of the vigilante that terrorized the criminals of the station for two years. "You're afraid of contact and you want to  _separate_? Tell me again how that makes any sense."

"Look," she points across the walkway, still littered with the barricades of the assault, and her face twists into a scowl. "You know as well as I do that it'll look like fucking Christmas if you walk up. You might as well stamp a fucking sign proclaiming you as Archangel because you can be damned sure they won't think twice about a Turian in blue-fucking-armor with a beaten-to-shit face."

"Keep in radio contact," he responds, removing the sleek rifle from his back. "The moment you don't respond, I move." He climbs up onto one of the barricades and slings his rifle to his shoulder, all but dismissing any word from her lips as he sights down the scope. "You have ten minutes."

She is still for a moment, wondering what the hell that means, when her mind suddenly snaps to attention. Scrambling over the barricade with realization, she questions if she should really be putting up a bigger fuss over his attitude. Sure, he's being an asshole, but is it really too difficult to imagine that he's not in in the best of moods returning to the place he nearly lost his life? To the last stand of his only allies on this entire shit-hole station?

She can't say as she'd be all that different in similar circumstances – hell, she was a downright bitch to everyone up until finding him after being resurrected by Cerberus – so she'll let him vent his frustrations if it's what he needs. Besides, the worst he could do would probably be a concussive shot in her ass to hurry her up and it isn't like he hasn't already shot her with one before.

 _Figures it'd be the same damn straight away that he'd shoot me with one,_  she thinks as she climbs over the last obstacle and onto the single bridge with huge gashes out of the concrete from gun and explosive fire.  _Little shit better not give me a bruised ass with a fucking concussive. Those bastards hurt._

"Looks quiet," she calls out in her comm, eyes scanning the building before catching movement behind a pile of still-smoking rubble half-way to the building. "Hold… I got movement." She moves to pull her weapons, but the whirring of multiple guns stops her hands, forcing her to raise her arms in surrender as three Vorcha rise from behind what seems to be the remains of the heavy mech she had hacked.

"You go," one hisses. "We find first." The others hiss in unison and she assumes this one must be the 'leader', if one could be called such when speaking of the savage little beasts.

She hears the low growl in her comm, but she decides to ignore it as she lowers her hands slowly. "Hey, no worries. I'm sure there's enough to go around."

One snarls and throws its head. "No! Stupid human leave."

She fights her lips from puckering at the insult and instead sighs dramatically. "Well, then. Since you obviously don't want to negotiate, I guess I'll have to bring out the big guns." She smirks and holds up her right hand, folding in her middle, ring, and pinky finger to her palm. "I'll give you one chance to leave before you three get front row seats to a magic show."

The Vorcha merely hiss, as expected, when she lifts her hand and 'sights' down her thumb. Before any of them can speak, she hears the low rolling of her mate's harmonics of understanding and, trusting completely in his ability to cover her, calls out her command in the form of a single word.

"Bang," she says with a smirk, her voice drowned out by the actually roar of Garrus' rifle, as the Vorcha just to the right of the 'leader's head explodes into a spray of red. She doesn't give the two a chance to react before she sighs dramatically. "Well, darn. Looks like my gun is in need of calibrations." She pulls her hand to her chest and examines it with a squinted eye, holding back her laugh at her husband's unamused grunt at the hidden jab. "Don't worry, I think I got it this time."

She lifts her hand back towards the 'leader' when it snarls out a hiss. "You no shoot magic finger!" It throws up its hands, the one at its back following its lead and doing the same. "We leave now." She chuckles as the two run / skitter off into the shadows, most likely to wait until the time when she leaves so they can just resume their looting, and she looks towards Garrus' direction.

"Good to see you haven't changed." His voice is expressionless, leaving her to wonder if this is how he coped through the two years, by shutting himself away from the possible pain. The thought just makes her hate the fact that she died in the first place – which is insane because  _it wasn't like she chose to fucking kick the bucket, dammit_.

 _Get your act together, Jane,_  she scolds herself.  _So what if he chose to shut out the world? You won't get him out of whatever hole he's put himself in if you don't fucking offer him a hand up._  Shaking her head clear, she turns back to the large building, telling herself to be the support he was for her so many years ago when she woke up with nightmares of Maws.

Once he makes his way to the burned entrance of the base in the transit, they find the bodies of his team still mostly intact. It seemed the mercs were more interested in stripping them and the building of any valuable tech once they couldn't find Archangel's body – the thought of her husband being their true target a bit unsettling – and it is actually a bit relieving to know that the most damage these men and women suffered was just their wounds.

They each search the building for anything and everything that can hold a flame – both avoiding the room obviously still stained in his blood and almost his last sight in almost another life – and build a large pyre in the mess. It takes all of the available kindling in the building, but they manage to give at least each of the members of his team a place on the pyre, their bodies lined side by side under thick sheets of fabric from the boardwalk.

Before setting their final resting place to the flame, however, Garrus takes her upstairs to the large room opposite of the balcony overlooking the bridge. It seems like where he would've made his home, with its ensured sense of privacy and lone bed, but it seemed less lived-in than anywhere else in the entire apartment, as if it was in its own world outside the lives of Archangel and his team. In it is a large safe hidden behind a shelf that contains eleven small crates and she realizes instantly what they are, the footlockers of their personal belongings he had told her about.

He doesn't say anything as they pack the belongings into the back of their rented transport, but she does see the flicker of light in his eyes at the sight of seeing the collection of crates still locked and sealed against prying eyes and she can't help but smile when he's not looking. Sure, it isn't much, but it's the first outward sign of emotion outside of irritation she's seen on his face since she walked into the battery that night and she'll take whatever she can get.

Once the cab is packed tightly with the last of the individual crates, she watches as Garrus siphons some of the fuel from the flyer into a large canister, leaving just enough to get them back to the docks. Even though she  _knows_  the reason,  _knows_  this is the whole reason they came here, she still can't help the cringe at the sight of the material over the top of the pyre growing dark as the liquid saturates into the fibers.

Give her a gun and an enemy and she'll put them down without a second thought, but the thought of  _burning bodies_  still makes her squirm. Body disposal in the Reds made her skin itch and it's no different now, it seems.

Seeming to see her discomfort, Garrus steps towards her and cups her cheek, pulling her up to press his forehead to hers. "Do you need to leave?"

She shakes her head emphatically, her hands gripping around the jut of his chest plate. "No." She takes a deep breath, giving a nod when her nerves have calmed a bit. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need for you to apologize." He runs talons across her jaw before pulling away. "I understand humans don't tend to see a distinction between the body and the person." He tosses the now-empty canister into the open area at the bottom of the funeral pyre. "Turians don't think the same way, but I understand if the thought of burning remains doesn't sit well with you."

"It's not that, Garrus." She offers a weak smile of assurance. "I guess I just wish there was another way we could give them peace that didn't involve some loveless fire on Omega." He hums in understanding and nods. "But I understand that, with lives like ours, that isn't possible." She moves to his side and takes his hand, smiling softly when he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm here for as long as you'll have me at your side."

He squeezes her hand again, seeming to want that touch, before letting go to take his rifle from his back and pop the slightly heated sink from the chamber. He takes her hand again before he tosses the sink into the broken and piled remains of furniture, starting the pyre into a rolling flame. It doesn't take long before the fire blazes into lapping colors of reds, oranges, and yellows that dance across the last remains of a team whittled down to one solitary soldier at her side. It's almost beautiful in its own way, in the symbolic meaning of release and closure and she can see why so many cultures of her own people seemed so enthralled with the flame.

Eventually the two must move outside of the building, the flames growing outward to encompass any flammable object they couldn't strip from the walls or fixtures of the apartment. The entire time, Garrus doesn't release her hand, doesn't show a sign that he wants her to leave, and she doesn't complain at the times when his grip tightens at some unknown provocation. She doesn't know how long they spend in total watching the licking of cleansing fire paint the walls with black charring, but she is more than ready to leave once she finally feels the tug on her hand of her mate as he leads her to their transit.


	12. Chapter 12

-Garrus-

They returned to a dark and near ghostly Normandy, the crew all but gone to the far reaches of their respective decks to find some sense of sleep or peace from the long work days among the layers of metal and machinery. It's not like Garrus will complain, he'd rather it stay this way the entire time as he and Jane make their way towards her private cabin, and he definitely isn't in any mood to demand attention to their late-night excursion into the Omega slums.

They've already packed the eleven footlockers of his and his team's last belongings into the cargo hold to sort through and send off to their respective families – or to their designating 'resting places' baring any possible relatives – as told in each datapad that was sure to be somewhere located in their locked things. He had spoken of the men and women whose lives all amounted now to the crates in their hands as they worked, her nods of understanding and short glances as they work helping to ease his frozen voice in to releasing the pain that had started to melt with the earlier flames. He told her of the missions they had done, of how they had nearly abolished the mercenary control over the station, and he wasn't surprised when she finally managed to ask him how it came to fall around his feet in a million shattered pieces.

Lantar Sidonis, the one man who had insisted with his every breath that Garrus take on a team, allow others to carry the badge of 'Archangel' and ensure the safety of those who could save themselves. It was that barefaced bastard that, for whatever reason, turned on the very people he tried to pull into Archangel's shadow by abandoning them, and possibly even handing their position over to the very people they tried to destroy. He was more than willing to make sure Sidonis paid the traitor's price for his betrayal and ensure the coward didn't find a way to melt away into just another face in the universe.

After they clear out the rented cab of any traces of their cargo, they return the transit and head back to the ship, figuring that they'd take the airlock as it would give Jane the chance to give order to the pilot to disembark from Omega in search of their new destination. He just wants to find somewhere to ease the exhaustion from their added trip to his former base on top of the already long mission to convince the Salarian scientist to join their mission while still recovering from his injuries, so he barely pays any attention to the cycling decontamination.

What he never could have expected coming through the thick doors of the airlock is the swivel of the pilot's chair at their passing to reveal the last person Garrus would  _ever_ want to see in the cockpit of another ship, let alone the one his wife calls home now, Jeff "Joker" Moreau. "So now we're staying out past curfew? Why wasn't I-"

The smarmy bastard's joke is cut short with when his eyes lock on Garrus, the dull gray of his widening in shock as his mouth drops. The pilot doesn't get to snap out any sort of blithe remark before Garrus growls and rushes forward, his talons locking into the material of his shirt before jerking him from the seat. His body tensing in the Turian's grasp before the man relaxes, coming to the sense that falling limb will most likely result in less injury.

"You have some nerve," Garrus growls, his dual vocals rapidly fluctuating between enunciating his words to be understandable or making his unvoiced threat obvious. "Who the hell thought it'd be a good idea to let you back on any ship, let alone in the damn pilot's seat?"

He feels the strong grip of a very small hand at the fold his elbow, where the fabric of his undersuit is all that protects him on the field to allow movement. Her stern look to Joker cuts off any response from the man that would only anger Garrus more before she turns her full attention to him. "Garrus, put him down."

It's all she says, not some form of explanation for either of their actions or reprimand, but a simple order to release the human before Garrus manages to break something. Her voice is calm, yet he can hear the slight hint of understanding in her tone, and he can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, she might share some of the same ire over her needless death – one that could have been entirely prevented in his eyes – and it's the only thing that manages to loosen his grip, relax his straining muscles running down his arms, as he lowers the frail pilot back into his seat.

He doesn't speak, simply turns away to keep his anger from getting the better of him, and hears Jane as she parts with Joker, giving her orders to take them wherever the hell it is that they are supposed to pick up their next reject to save the universe. He has to clasp his hands around the back of some poor fool's seat – thankfully unoccupied for the occupant – and he feels his talons leaving large furrows in the thick leather through his gloves as he listens to the flippant dismissal of the pilot over his own actions.

She returns shortly, her expression blank despite his outburst, and he doesn't hesitate to follow when she waves him onward to the lift. When the doors close and the small cabin starts to slowly rise, she finally moves, taking his hand in hers and giving it a small squeeze, which he silently returns. He can guess she'd have either questions or concerns – he would too if the situation were different – but he can only hope that she can understand that, though he may not be looking to leave the ship at the next stop, he might never truly come to trust the pilot ever again.

He thinks she understands when he sees her turn to him once the lift slows and smiles, tugging him behind her and into the small entryway before the door he assumes will lead into her 'private Loft'.

"Come on," she says with a glance over her shoulder. "I know the bed is human, but I'm damn sure it'll be better than that tiny Medbay bunk." She taps a few commands in the panel by her door. "Plus, they covered that fucking window, so we might actually manage to get some sleep."

He rumbles in agreement, not needing her to explain  _why_  a viewport above her bed is a horrible idea for a Captain's Cabin, let alone  _her_  cabin. The doors slide open before her and she takes a step in and to the side to let him take the entire room in, she obviously already have seen it before.

It's massive, with an open-room design and nearly every amenity one would need to just cordon themselves away and practically live up here alone. It's obvious from looking at it that Cerberus has never seen a military vessel's interior in their lives, as there's a large seating area at the base of the short stairs and the entire wall opposite consists of an empty aquarium. Certainly a cabin that'd be more at home on a luxury cruise liner, but he definitely isn't going to complain at the sight of the large bed, the thought of finally stripping off his armor and laying against his mate practically draining any criticism of the human-centric company's tastes.

"I know it might be uncomfortable at first, but we can get a better bed when we get into Citadel space." Jane walks up to the bed and kicks lightly at the frame. "And I'm pretty sure Cerberus won't mind making sure their cyborg is comfortable with her Turian husband, right?"

He chuckles at her smirk and nods, his hands suddenly leaden as he moves to remove his armor. She moves to help and he curses inwardly, this being the perfect opportunity to see to that itch their earlier bout in the conference room didn't manage to dissipate completely. He wants her, aches for her, but his damn injuries coupled with the long and exhausting day – both mentally and emotionally – has left him without the strength to force his limbs against her incessant tug under the sheets and into a resting position against her chest. Even his will to reject her soothing caress over his fringe to coax him to sleep can't keep his eyes open, his body from falling limp in her hold, and he curses again as the last of his consciousness fades.

V.v.V.v.V

He doesn't know what time it is when he wakes with a start, his body shaking and breaths coming out as harsh pants. He recognizes immediately what's wrong and tries to lift himself from his sleeping mate's embrace without waking her, the action hard while also battling the tremors that run under his plates and make his hide crawl. He stumbles out of bed in search for his armor, the pain in his shoulder and face pulsing with the building headache of his withdrawal, and the warnings of the doctor repeat in his head as his fingers finally clasp around the cold tube of drugs his body desperately needs.

_You're situation is too dangerous to be battling withdrawal while your body is trying to heal such extensive injuries. While I don't wish to see you continuing the usage of these drugs, I can't, with clear conscious, advise you to force your body to start adapting without them just yet. The shock of your injuries on top of kicking the addiction could very well put you back in my Medbay and I'd rather you use something similar, and safer than the street form of the drug, until you are healthy enough._

Chakwas' words fade into the darkness of the room to be replaced by the sharp hiss of the injector against his hide, the rush of heated chill rushing under the skin to spread throughout his body to ease the tension. He's known this feeling, the pain and agitation of absence chased away by the sweet relief of the drug's return, and he knows it isn't good, that his reliance to function got out of hand over the years, but he knows the doctor is right. As much as he'd love to just let his body suffer the symptoms of finally refusing to fall under the high sway of the chemicals in his system, he can't risk putting himself out of commission while Jane is relying on him to watch her six. If it takes him constantly having to dose up to keep sane and able, then he'll manage – he's done it for two years and he can certainly do it for a little while longer.

He jerks at the soft pressure against his back, nearly jerks around to throw his assailant to the ground, before his slowed mind takes in the familiar smell that flows over his shoulders. She hums lowly as her hands wrap around his torso and her hand lays against the plates of his upper back. "You okay?" she asks, her voice still a bit muffled from sleep.

"Yeah." He turns his hand over to hide the vial as he places it back into his armor to dispose of later. "Are you? Usually you don't wake up so easily. I'm sorry if I woke you."

She grunts at that in dismissal. "Bad dreams," is all she says as she shifts more to his side to look at him, her head tilted in unvoiced question as he watches her all-too-observant eyes take in his predicament as her little teeth work her bottom lip. She finally seems to come to some conclusion – whether to drop whatever issue she sees or leave it for another day, he isn't sure – and gives him a weak smile. "You want to go back to bed?"

Something in the way she holds herself, in the light glint of her eyes, tells him that either she saw something of his moment of weakness or that she knows he is trying to hold something from her. He can't blame her, she's always been too observant and curious for her own good, but he doesn't want to get into his failings, into his pathetic reliance on some substance to function, because he doesn't want her to know if his fears of seeing disappoint in her eyes.

In his dilemma, he doesn't see her frown, doesn't see her knowing look to his armor where the empty vial lies, but he does see her when she finally moves closer, taking his hands in hers. He's shocked when she locks her emerald eyes with his and lifts his hands to her lips, giving each of his worn knuckles a tender kiss. In such a simple expression, he hopes he sees her forgiving him, washing away his faults and stains of Omega, and his blood flares with a blood all-too-different from the synthetic rush of stimulants or the urging please of his addicted form.

"Jane," he purrs, a needy growl vibrating his throat, as he tugs her closer to him, into his arms where he can press his muzzle to her ear. "I need you."

He doesn't tell her of how deep his need runs, of how single minded her one expression of care has made him, but he thinks she knows when she sighs and closes her eyes, pressing her head towards his where his heated breath puffs at the strands of her hair. Luckily, he doesn't need to release her to drag their bodies to the bed and he's certain he wouldn't have made it if his armor hadn't been left so close to the bed as her wet mouth latching onto the soft hide of his throat, her warm tongue lapping at his pulse.

He growls when he feels her little hands tug on his undersuit, struggling with the zipper she can't see before diving in to press against his waist, and he doesn't hesitate to tug at her shirt. It's the first time he's seen her is so long, a shocking fact that he never wants to think about again, and he doesn't know how to react when she suddenly pulls away, her hands yanking her shirt from his talons. The lustful thrumming in his throat dies with the ripping of the cloth from his talons and he tightly grips her thighs straddling his lap so she can't get away.

"What's wrong?" He fights to keep the hurt confusion from his vocals, wondering if the low growling rumble would just make things worse. He doesn't need any explanation to know something is definitely up, but he's never seen her with such desperation in her expression since, hell, before they started sleeping together.

She bites her lip, her eyes switching between his as she seems to be trying to find a way to explain. "I… I don't have my scars anymore," she finally says weakly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Well, yeah. You said Cerberus had to rebuild you." He tilts his head and cups her cheek to get her eyes on his. He doesn't understand why that's a problem. Of course her scars will be gone, she supposedly suffered entry into the atmosphere of Alchera and a body doesn't just come out of something like that intact, but he already knew she had looked different when he first saw her, it still didn't change that it was  _her_.

He's still trying to put together the jumbled pieces of the puzzle when she take his free hand and brings it to her waist, laying it against the fabric with a sorrowful sigh. He starts to work through the situation, putting the clues and hints together from her actions and words – what she  _says_  and what she  _shows_  - and it all rushes into realization.

Missing scars. Not wanting him to see the missing scars. Her  _waist_. "Damn," he breathes in disbelief,  _her bondmarks are gone._

Seeing the defeat in her eyes, he cups her cheeks with both hands, purring softly and soothingly. "Hey," he says as he presses his forehead to hers. "You really think I'd be upset that you no longer have your mark after all of your other scars are gone?" He chuckles at the thought of Cerberus going through all the effort to repair her only to scar her waist with a large Turian bite pattern and purrs at her responding flicker of her lips.

Though funny to think, and actually the best way of 'ensuring she is the same as she was' if that's the whole thing they were going for, he doesn't think it the best option when trying to repair damages to bring up a whole new set of difficulties of matching his specific teeth – which they had better done since he definitely wasn't going to let another Turian's mouth on her, secret Cerberus location or not.

True, it's difficult to think that the set of his teeth are no longer in her skin, the thought of marking her as his just thrown away as if it was nothing more than a mark of charcoal of her drawings crumbled up and tossed in the disposal, but he thinks it's more shock from the sudden lack of  _all_  scarring from her flesh than just the single mark. Sure, there are machines to repair them, but they still leave a faint trace visible to those who know the original and if she can see the difference, no longer be able to find any trace, then it must truly be missing from her skin. It's something he has to see to truly believe with his own eyes, but certainly not something for her to be ashamed of as it was never her decision for them to be here in the first place.

Flicking his free mandible, he rubs his nose plates along the jut of her own oddly shaped one. "I don't blame you, though, for being upset," he jokes. "It's not every day the great Archangel claims a mate."

She snorts, her head jerks with the movement, and he chuckles at her exaggerated eye roll, happy to see her lightening up after her unnecessary concern. "It damn well better not be. Though,  _I_  knew you before you were Archangel, back when you were still repairing my Mako." He mock cringes and she hugs him with a soft laugh, forcing his hands to her hips when they pull apart. "I guess I'm just pissed off that it's gone too. First my rings get lost in God knows where and now I don't even have your fucking scar anymore."

"I wouldn't say that I leave scars…" She pouts her lips with a soft glare and he eases his expression, letting out an understanding rumbling echo through his wide chest. "Jane, rings and scars are just visual symbols. They don't mean anything besides sending a message. A message that everyone on this ship already seems to know. Besides," he lowers his voice and dips his head towards her neck, leaving a long lick up her pulse that makes her gasp, "I can always give you another."

"Never knew you to be so accommodating-" He cuts off her come-back with a sharp nip of his lip plates at the base of her neck, where he'd  _love_  to truly mark her, and he nearly bites down when she lifts her chin and presses closer.

He's sure she knows the silent cue, is damn certain she won't give a damn if he takes her offer and sinks his teeth in, but he knows it'll hurt, so he pulls back and nudges her left hip. "Get up," he offers her confused look. "I learned my lesson last time. I'm numbing you before we do this."

She snorts in amusement at that, probably remembering the massive and completely sore bruise she had after their wedding night across her waist. She had been unable to bend over or laugh heavily for a day or two as the area around his teeth impressions healed enough, the surrounding skin shifting from blackish-blue to a light tannish-purple. At the time, it was fine since all they had to do was sit around and enjoy the other's company, but now, they were on a mission, and he wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror if she wasn't battle-ready because of him.

He finds a medical kit in her bathroom and pulls out the Medi-Gel, silently thanking luck that it's the subtype of kit he was looking for, and brings it back into the room. "Go ahead and take off your shirt." She nods, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity as she moves to follow his lead. "This particular kind of Medi-Gel pack has a numbing agent in it along with the usual. Good think about Cerberus is they definitely pay for the good stuff."

"This is in two years?" Her shirt is half-way off, the spectacular view of her waist – missing scar and all – making his desire thrum back to life. "Why didn't I know about this?"

He shakes his head and waves her to hurry up, wanting enough time for this to take effect before he just gives in to his lust. "Probably because we don't have these in our suits, too expensive. Heard something about Chakwas and Mordin ordering them for the field, but I didn't pay too much attention."

He gives up waiting on her and lowers the strap of her bra off her left shoulder just as her shirt falls off her arms. She raises a brow with a smirk, but she keeps her quip about his dwindling patience in when he squeezes the cool gel onto her skin, flicking his mandible at her sharp intake. He purrs as he rubs the gel into her skin, messaging it with the soft pads of his fingers, and lets his vocals shift into something much headier when he feels her hands push his undersuit from his own shoulders.

"How long will it take to set in?" she asks lazily as one of his occasionally strays to run talon tips lightly along her neck or down the upper edge of her bra cup.

"Few minutes." He licks along the opposite side of her neck, from the curve of her collar to her jaw, and she grips his waist, making heat shoot straight to his widening plates.

"Fuck me, that's too long." He chuckles and nips at her medicated shoulder to test, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. "Jesus, Garrus. Won't you get sick from that shit?"

"Worse I'll get is numbness." He pulls her to his chest, letting her dip her head to the undamaged side of his neck where she starts the sweet torture of sucks, licks, and sharp bites of her flat teeth, as he unsnaps the back of her bra. He remembers how mad she gets when he just rips them off, so, for now, he'll take it slow enough to remove this one correctly. "But I can live with that if you just keep doing  _that_."

She chuckles before giving him a particularly harsh bite, his plates snapping open with a jerk at just how  _good_  that felt, and grabs her head, pulling her from him with a low growl. He decides he's had enough with the delicate teasing and caressing, he needs to be in her, her body over his better than any damn drug he can imagine, and he pulls her eyes to his, her dark pupils blown wide most likely matching his own. Using his other hand to direct her off his lap, he gives her a single command. "Get your clothes off."

Her hands practically rip off her remaining clothes, the smell of her arousal her quick movements release making his blood hot and his chest ache with deep pulses of his harmonics, and he follows suit with his own barriers. They complete their tasks on time with their partner, her lips meeting his just as the thick weave of his undersuit hit the floor of the cabin to twist her soft little limb with his own, much longer one. He thrums at her needy moan, the high sound so unlike anything she's ever spoken on the field, and he can't help digging his hand into her fiery locks to pull her close.

She moans again when her body presses against his throbbing member, her legs parting enough for him to place his thigh between hers. He feels her grind against him and responses wordlessly, shoving his body closer with a growling moan at the feel of her against his plates. Of course, this isn't the first time coming together, but it's the first of feeling their bare bodies against the other, no armor or strips of cloth to separate them, and she seems just as desperate moving against him as he feels.

Having enough, he squats down, breaking their connection of mouths and tongues to wrap his large palms under her thighs, and lifts her up. Her legs wrap around his waist seamlessly and he can't help pressing his forehead to hers as he walks them to the bed, the low thrumming of devotion and belonging finding a small window to make themselves known before he can squash them under unadulterated need.

Despite not knowing all the nuances of his language, she must either hear the gist of his message or share his thoughts within this same moment of peace as she cups his face with hers, smiling in a way that lights up the tiny rings of green in her lusty eyes. It doesn't need to be said as he lays her under him, but they both see it - everything has changed, yet for them, it has all remained the same.

She gasps as he pushes in, as she always has done, but not from pain or surprise. He's always wondered why she makes the little noise in her throat as she throws her head back, but she has never been able to explain, not even knowing she even does it, and he's come to believe that it's just her way of expressing the unspoken feeling he himself feels, like coming home. Their bodies may have never evolved to be intended to come together, his sharp and heavy while hers is smooth curves and feather-light, but he doesn't care to question the sense of  _right_  he has in her presence, only knowing its pull on him after he had thought his heart lost.

Dropping his head to the mattress at her shoulder, he moans when her legs tighten around his waist and her hands press under his fringe, but she doesn't move to disrupt his slow and deep thrusts into her. He feels one hand drop to his wounds, the touch a light pressure against the skin that's either screaming in pain or completely dull with pain killers, and he presses into her hold, silently assuring her that, no matter what, she could never truly hurt him.

He pulls back, nearly removing himself from her, and flicks a maybe at her startled gasp, amused that she'd let herself think he'd leave. Pushing in, he rumbles in assurance to her moan, and licking at her left shoulder to test her sensitivity. She doesn't seem to feel it, not responding besides the slight grind against his hips' movements, and he drops a hand under her upper body, lifting her enough to get his mouth around her.

She moans a high gasp at the action, but she doesn't pull away, instead pressing her body against him in unspoken demand that he follows by deepening his pushes into her. Rolling his tongue against her skin, he thrums deeply before tightening his jaw around her slowly to test and see the extent of the Medi-gel's effects.

She sighs, dipping her head more to the side and away from him, and her hands come up to the back of his skull, her delicate fingers stroking meaningless patterns against his plates. At the same time, her legs tighten around him, pulling him closer, and his instincts kick in, demanding he move on such a willing female,  _his_  willing female.

In time with his speeding, deepening thrusts, he increases the pressure of his teeth, easily cutting through the thin layer of her pale skin and skinning into the loose muscle at the base of her neck and shoulder in a flush of her sharp red blood. She shares his muffled moan, her flat nails digging in under his fringe, and sparks fly from her fingertips down his spine, turning into a nova in his belly.

Lifting her hips to his to shift the angle of his entry, trying to rush against his upcoming climax from the multitude of sensations so he can bring her with him, he lets go of her neck to claim her mouth, greedily drinking in her vocalizations at their joining. He knows she's close, can feel it in the fluttering of her inner muscles and the way her breath comes in harsh gasps, so it isn't a surprise when he finally feels her clamp down hard around him with a harsh scream. Her orgasms makes him groan, the pressure around him as tight as the one inside his abdomen, and he gasps at his own release, his hips instinctively pressing closer to hers as she does the same, unconsciously milking each other of the last vestiges of their shared pleasure.

They are quiet for a long time, their breaths all that echoes alongside the soft tinkling of bubbles in her tank, before she finally laughs weakly. He smiles, sharing in her amusement, and lifts himself on his forearms to look down at her flushed face, her hair strewn all over the pillows below her. "Fuck me, Garrus. You sure now how to keep a girl's mind off of the fact that there are giant teeth in her neck."

He makes a show of frowning and taking offense, his brow plates lowering and his mandible clamping against his jaw. "I'll have you know that I was in complete control. I certainly wasn't going to rip your throat open."

She snorts and lifts a hand to her shoulder, pulling her hand back with red on her fingertips. "How bad does it look?"

He examines her, checking to make sure the medical gel did its job after his teeth left her skin. "Well, a good thing about putting the Medi-gel on first was that it helped to clot the blood some, slow the flow." He lowers his head and licks softly at the wound, cleaning it. "Shame we don't have any ink for it. It looks like a clean cut."

He returns to cleaning her, trying to keep any more blood from staining the sheets even though they've already deciding on changing it as soon as they hit a station, and feels her giggle at the soft tickling of his tongue, her skin likely still really numb to sensation if his numbing tongue is anything to go by. "Don't worry about it not showing. After the ink wore off on the first one, it was still really noticeable. Turian skin must not change colors for scars as human skin does."

He hums and pulls away, her blood now clotted enough to keep her from openly draining out across her skin. "Actually, mine is still blue. Adult Turians barely molt anymore and, at the depth your flat little teeth went, the ink may fade, but it won't be gone completely."

"So, like a tattoo?" She lifts a brow and he shrugs, not knowing enough about the odd, human form of body modification to make the comparison. "Never mind. I'm sure it's like a tattoo." She lays a hand at the hide of his neck and bites her lip. "So, when do we do you?"

He snorts and takes her hand, giving the tip of her thumb a playful nip. "Tell you what, as soon as I get something to make my hide a little more malleable to your dull little teeth, you can mark me again. Deal?"

She snorts, but nods her head in agreement. "Agreed. Wouldn't want to have to go to Chakwas with broken teeth and explain it's all due to me trying to bite into the jerky my husband calls a neck."


	13. Chapter 13

-Jane-

The staccato of clicking heels was definitely set to a 'pissed off' tempo as the raven haired Cerberus operative stormed out of her office and into the Mess Hall where Garrus and Jane were currently taking apart and cleaning their weapons after their most recent mission.

 _Like clockwork,_  Jane thinks with a smirk as Lawson comes to a halt right at the head of the long table, her perfectly sculpted brows pulling down as her dark eyes narrow. "Why, Miranda," she says innocently, laying aside her recently reassembled pistol. "What  _ever_  brings you here?"

"Is EDI correct is saying that you gave Jack  _open access_  to Cerberus files?" Hands land on wide hips as she glares like reprimanding a child. "Are you serious, Shepard?"

"Well, seeing as how Cerberus likes to agree to do things without my knowledge, I just thought it was the norm." Jane shrugs and Garrus flicks a mandible at the slight huff of the Operative. "What? Don't tell me Cerberus doesn't know how to close a few files away from access. Hell, look at EDI." She waves a hand at the nearby holographic interface for the ship's AI. "All the answers I get out of that thing is either where the shitters are or 'What is this room'."

"That's not the point, Shepard," Lawson replies with an irritated sigh. "You can't just grant a clearly unstable lunatic access to highly classified Cerberus files."

Garrus flicks his mandible in a Turian equivalent to an eye roll and lays down his clean assault rifle. "You were there, Miranda. It didn't take her but one look at your insignia to recognize you, so she obviously has a history with Cerberus. A history  _you'd think_  your data analyst would have foreseen and warned you about when they handed over her Dossier."

Jane snorts. "Haven't you heard, Garrus? Cerberus intel fucking stinks."

"Could explain how we always have to clean up their messes." He leans forward as if to whisper, but doesn't lower his voice and Jane has to hold in her laugh and try to seem serious in listening to his upcoming statement. "Think we should request reparations for all the times we had to wipe out their facilities that went to hell back when we were after Saren?"

"Alright, enough you two." Miranda rubs a single finger at her temple, her eyes closed dramatically. "First, you know as well as I do that Cerberus has the best intel available. Second, any incidents you may have witnessed were not part of this branch of Cerberus operations and, thus, not relevant to this mission. Third-"

Jane lifts a hand to stop the woman where she's building up for what's bound to be a lecture. "Look, I'm sure you have lists upon lists of why everything we've done so far has pissed someone off, somewhere. Honestly, who gives a shit if Jack knows something about Cerberus? Who doesn't? As Garrus said, we found shit loads of fucked up experiments you people were doing, but did anyone do anything? No. So nothing that important will happen if Jack finds something."

Her husband hums thoughtfully. "She could just destroy the ship in a fit of rage with all of us in it," he offers helpfully. "Of course, I guess that solves  _our_  Reaper problem. Not too sure about the rest of the Universe, though I'm sure they'll be fine."

She snorts at his dark sense of humor he's seemed to have developed from Omega, but Lawson interrupts any come back she could offer. "As improper as Officer Vakarian's example may be, he's not too far off."

The incorrect title gets a narrowed glare from her mate, but he doesn't respond beyond moving his attentions towards his remaining weapons, so Jane keeps her smart remark of it back for now. "Point is, Miranda, that I'm sure Mr. Big Bad Illusive Man would have thought of it before telling me to go play slave trader." Jane picks up her shotgun to start cleaning, her eyes moving to her task. "And you were there, it was either leave her and have wasted all that effort running through a prison ship for nothing, or give her what she wanted."

"And we need all the help we can get right now," the woman admits with a sigh. "Just be careful for what this may lead to."

"So you really don't know the connection between our little psychotic and Cerberus?" Green eyes leave her weapon to glance at the operative just as she shakes her head no, her blue eyes gazing off across space with whatever thoughts this lack of information may have created. "Well, at least you only have one pissed off bitch walking around." She smirks at the raised brow. "Good thing we kissed and made up, huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "Please, I know your little temper tantrum wouldn't last." Jane shrugs, wordlessly searching for her cleaning cloth before the operative hands it over, holding it with the very tips of her fingers as if contagious. Just as she takes a hold of it, the woman's eyes widen in shock before jerking the side of Jane's shirt collar and pulling it aside.

"Really, Lawson?!" Jane croaks at the sudden yank. "I mean I know you've seen me naked, but buy a girl a dink before you start stripping her when she's conscious."

Her protests fall on mostly deaf ears as Lawson pulls back, mostly recollected if not for her puckered lips. She takes a deep breath, giving Jane the chance to look over at her husband, who seems just as confused at the sudden touching of the usual calm and distance woman. "I spent two years putting you back together," she starts, thumb and forefinger rubbing the bridge of her nose. "And you go and do _that_?"

Understanding, Garrus smirks, practically radiating smugness. "You should see the one matching the first. You  _did_  remove it, after all."

"Oh yeah," Jane adds, her expression matching her husbands in glee of just finding things to aggravate the operative before them. "I was meaning to ask you, Miranda." She waits until Lawson drops her hand to throw them both a glare that could cut glass, but only manages to make their smiles widen. "Just what  _else_  did you change on me?"

"I didn't change a thing on you, Shepard. I  _told_  you, you are exactly as you were." That hip cock that's so unanimous with the woman Jane wonders if she was born holding that annoyed pose appears, making Garrus flick his free mandible at where he's bound to know this conversation is going and he just wants front seats to.

"Oh  _really_ ," she responds, drawing out the last word as she ponders. "Huh, because it seems like something's different right around," she cups her breasts and pushes them together, "here." She lifts them up and down, making her husband laugh at the wide eyed expression on the other woman.

"Shepard. Show some discretion… please." The corner of her lip pulls up and she takes a step back, obviously not sure whether to take the chance to just run and damn whatever else the two idiots at the table have to say or try to sit through it.

"Please, I'm the epitome of discretion." Her mate snorts at that, but she releases her chest. "Point is, I haven't had tits this big since my stripper days."

"Not that all of us are complaining," Garrus adds with a rumbling tone to his vocals that Jane is pretty sure Miranda wouldn't recognize. Not unless the woman has a _very interesting_  sex life.

"Oh, I'm not complaining," Jane says with a smile. "It's just that, well, this," she motions at herself, "isn't really as I was before."

Miranda sighs, her patience for this obviously coming close to an end. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Seeing a perfect opportunity, Jane tilts her head with a hum incredulously and picks up her shotgun. She holds it as she would on the field, but she makes a show of squeezing her chest with her elbows. Clearly not a position she would take on the field as it weakens her hold on her weapon, but it does the job of exaggerating the size of her. "Hmm," she says, squinting her eyes as if she can't see correctly down the barrel and bounces the butt of the gun against her chest. "Definitely seems off to me."

With the look of exasperation on Lawson's face, Jane drops the gun back to the table and shrugs. "Look, point is, I was a C, D in some cases, when I was in the military and a double when I was stripping, so it's not like I'm suddenly top heavy or anything. I'm just curious as to why? Was it just you taking 'artistic liberties'?"

In all honesty, she should be angrier at the woman's tampering in what was her natural self, should find the fact that she's the combination of two different versions of herself, and she would be if not for the way her husband seems to like the extra additions. She never would have guessed him for it, but he certainly likes the added padding, and it doesn't really affect her combat despite the jab at the operative, so maybe it's not so bad to have the benefits of both, her before and after.

"It was a collaborative decision of all involved in the Lazarus Project."  _Pervs,_ she thinks, with a smirk, but doesn't voice as Miranda continues, clearly back in her game as she straightens into her classic stance of superiority. "We believed it would make a better image if you fit more into the view of beauty."

"Oh, ouch." She holds a hand to her chest in mock hurt. "You certainly think I'm pretty, right?" she jokes towards her husband who had returned most of his attention to his work.

"I know too much of human women to know not to answer that," he deadpans, but glances up with a flicker of free mandible, his  _obvious_  after his attentions last night. "It never ends well either way."

"Smart man," Jane says with a laugh before returning to Lawson. "Now, is there anything else you need, Miranda? Perhaps you'd like to question my fighting style or the way I part my hair," she jabs with a smirk as she picks at some strange clump of something on the barrel of her shotgun.  _What the hell am I bashing with this thing? Oh, right, that looks like a bit of the Warden after I charged into him and smashed his face in because I ran out of heatsinks._

"Actually," her attention is drawn back up to the Cerberus operative as she opens up her Omni-Tool to scroll through whatever it is that is so important to cut into their gun maintenance time at nearly 0000 in the morning. "I was wondering what our intentions are on the Citadel? I know we have a possible Dossier on the station, but we haven't managed to receive the exact whereabouts where she would like to meet."

Jane has the decency to look abashed as she shrugs. "Turns out I forgot to check in on an old friend?" In truth, she hadn't responded to the human Councilor's summons because she knew, just knew, it wouldn't lead to a simple conversation between old military friends, if they could be called that after such short meetings over the odd time that was chasing after a rogue Spectre.

Lawson is about to speak with Garrus interrupts, his head tilted in confusion and brow plates drawn down. "You haven't even been on the Citadel, yet?"

She shrugs. "I didn't have much reason to. You weren't answering any means of messaging you, Cerberus all but told me you were either dead or God knows where and they didn't care to look for you, and I had no other reason to go to the Citadel. I wasn't just going to walk into our old apartment thinking you just changed your contact information." She frowns, dropping her eyes in the only sign of the shame she feels at what she'll admit to next. "Besides, I guess I wasn't really thinking about friends at the moment I suddenly found out I was alive and I had missed so much. I wasn't really on top of everything and I didn't want to deal with politics at the time."

He hums and nods. "I know how you feel."

Clearing her throat, the two obviously haven forgotten about her presence, Miranda actually lessens the tight pull on her features when she turns to Jane, though her voice is still as cold as ever. "I can try to see if Ms. Goto will agree to meet us sooner. That way the trip is not a complete loss." Back to normal at that, Jane doesn't hesitate to roll her eyes. "And I don't think I need to remind you that it'd be best if the Council, should you meet with them, is not given the chance to undermine our efforts against the Collectors."

Garrus scoffs, laying his completed rifle down and crossing his arms over his chest, his face clearly pulled tight. "Like the Council will believe a single word out of her mouth."

Jane frowns at the clear frustration in his voice, but decides to hold back her curiosity until they are alone, either off the ship or in her cabin – now clean of any bugs even though whoever is watching got quite the show before they were removed. Obviously, she's bound to be in for an unpleasant surprise when she shows up at Anderson's office for his requested 'talk' and it might be bigger than she thought if it's got her usually calm husband worked up to the point that all he can do is sit a seethe.

"Not surprising," Lawson agrees vaguely before turning to Jane. "I'm sure you won't quite recognize the ones you sacrificed to save so long ago, but Officer Vakarian's more equipped to explain."

Surprisingly, the woman's change to not contradicting everything said on the mere concept makes Garrus' mood lighten enough to speak, his voice softer after a deep exhale. "I don't know why you and that damned AI insist on calling me that. I'm not an officer anymore." He shakes his head. "I'm not technically any form of military either."

"Would you rather everyone call you 'Archangel'?" Jane asks with a raised brow, legitimately curious what title he'd like to be called professionally – as if anyone on the ship won't learn the two are anything  _but_  professional.

He smirks and shrugs. "I don't mind  _you_  calling me that. In fact, you seemed to like that-"

Throwing slim hands up, Miranda stops that sentence. "Okay, no more 'Officer'. Understood." She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, her brows tight in her 'professional bitch face', as Jane likes to imagine it. "Also, it would be best if the two of you remain professional in front of the crew. Cerberus may not be the military, but I would think you would know the repercussions of fraternization."

Jane snorts, rolling her eyes at how 'remaining professional' turned out for them last time they were on a ship together.  _Not at all fun, that's how._ "Look,  _Operative Lawson_ ," she says, putting venom into the title in order to make sure the woman understands she is still the Commander, God dammit. "Cerberus already ruined that little secret thing when you all rubbed it in my face that you knew I was married to a fucking Turian. You don't get to do that without expecting me to snap back and rub your own shit in your noses."

She stands and points a finger into the woman's flawless skinned face. " _And_  I'm still the fucking Commander on this ship, so if I say we're suddenly taking on Turian practices, you can bet I won't give a shit who's bunking with who so long as they keep it off duty. Hell, if you have a sudden problem with how I let my mate mark me, then I'll make it a new fucking rule to walk around the ship shirtless, just so you fucking racist shits will have to see it." Garrus grunts at that image, but clearly knows when to keep quiet as Jane continues. "And you know what, Lawson? If you have a problem, you can bring it up to the Illusive Man as soon as you take his dick out of your mouth long enough to talk." She smirks darkly and steps away, crossing her arms over her chest. "And when you find out that he won't listen, you can meet me in the ring. Nothing a little old fashioned violence won't solve and I'd be happy to wipe the floor with your bubbly ass."

Even at the added height the heels given the operative, Jane loves the feeling of towering over the woman that her little rant gives her, loves the feeling of 'being the Commander', even if Miranda's slight scowl hasn't shifted from the start. She'll hand it to the dark haired woman, she knows how to stare death in the eyes and not blink - Jane never said the woman didn't earn at least some of her arrogance – but she knows, in this battle of wills, she will win. No one can beat the intensity that comes from N-training and staring down a pissed off Reaper. "I do hope you know what you're doing, Commander," she says blankly before turning sharply and leaving back to her own room, the doors clicking as they lock at her back.

It takes a moment of quiet seething before Jane throws her hands up with an unintelligible groan of frustration. "Fucking… Cerberus!" She turns to Garrus' chuckle. "And what's so funny?"

"You mean aside from you getting so worked up that you can't even come up with a proper insult?" He smirks and stands, coming to her and taking her hands in his with a rumble of amusement. "How about how eloquently you put the fact that we no longer have to keep up that horrible parody of professionalism?"

"You  _do_  remember I already said that, right?" she asks with a raised brow.

"Yes, but you never threatened to scar the crew by advertising your bondmarks." He pauses and frowns. "Still not sure how I feel about you walking around half-naked, though."

"Oh?" She smirks and steps closer, lifting on her toes so that she can lower her voice. "Then you should see what I have planned for the Council."

He groans exaggeratedly. "Please don't. I don't think my heart could take that, or guarantee I won't make a fool of myself on the other hand." She laughs and he flicks a mandible, running a single talon around the slight bruising around her new bondmark at her neck. "Though you can always show me your plans in private. Much safer for all involved."

She laughs again, swatting his hands away playfully to start collecting their weapons to move up to their Loft. "That reminds me, what is up with you and the Council?"

He growls once, short and low, in aggravation. "It's not something with 'me and the Council', or, at least, not on such a solitary level, but I guess it's fair you know before we arrive tomorrow or else you'd be up for a shock." He collapses his sniper rifle and picks up his assault to do the same. "It's a long story, but after Sovereign, the Council ran a bunch of propaganda alongside the Alliance to cover up any trace of Reapers." She nearly drops the pistol in her hand as she's collapsing it, the sheer shock at his statement dropping her jaw and stealing any response. "'To prevent public panic', they said," he offers with a dropped mandible in sympathy, "and the rest of us were never given the chance to truly dispute it. All of our evidence was discredited or outright ignored."

"Is that why you left? Why you didn't stay on with the Spectres?" Though she asks, she knows his reasoning may not have been as clear cut as she'd like to think.

He shakes his head, collecting the last of their things with his head downcast. "It was part. Point is, I wanted to make sure you were at least somewhat prepared for what you may see on the Citadel. Even I haven't been back in two years, but at least I am somewhat prepared."

Jane nods in understanding, not sure how much of an experience returning to a place that, by the way her husband describes, seems to have been unaffected by the passage of time, the developments of the universe her previous crew had the misfortune of discovering where happening around them all along. How would it feel to return to a Citadel that lives as if the events of two years ago, of the first attack of their time of a Reaper, had never happened? Would it be like Alice falling into Wonderland? Never in her life would she have thought that her favorite childhood book would play out in her life and she's sure that if there is some higher power out there, it'd be laughing its ass off at the thought of irony.

"It's no use going back to yesterday," she says softly to herself as they enter the elevator, "because I was a different person then." Garrus doesn't respond, obviously knowing she is just voicing her running thoughts, but he does offer his free hand to her, letting her take it in silent assurance that they're in this together, whatever sights their trip to the Citadel may bring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SquigglySquid says: Sorry for the long span of time between updates. My BF finally had his spring break and I had a birthday, so I found myself suffering from the bug we all know as laziness. :P


	14. Chapter 14

-Garrus-

He wakes in the early hours of the morning to the rapid rise and fall of the surface below his head and it takes a moment for him to come to full awareness and understanding, the damn pain medication affecting his usual alertness. He jerks up from his mate's chest to look down at her, her face twisted into a pained grimace and her mouth gapping open as if choking, and rumbles in concern at the sucking sound of her struggled breaths. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him that, after  _dying in space_ , that she could possibly dream of it, relive it. She did it when they were living together when she was still trying to get over Akuze and, luckily, that time together has taught him how to handle this kind of situation.

Purring deeply with his throat, he shifts up the uncomfortable bed to his side and pulls her to him. He card his talons and fingers through her hair, pulling more strands from her half ruined braid as he does so, and presses his mouth to her ear to try and make her hear him over whatever is playing through her nightmares. He doesn't speak words, per se, but more croons as he would any other night he would have tried to pull her from her subconscious in their old bed in the dark of their Citadel apartment and purrs in response to the change in her breathing.

She gasps, her breaths deep and heavy as if suddenly exposed to air, and shivers against him. Even in her sleep, she grips the edges of whatever plates she can wedge her fingers around as she presses her body ever close to his, trying to soak up the warmth radiating from his body. Awake, she often speaks of feeling extremely cold all the time since being remade by Cerberus and, though he doesn't feel a difference in her temperature to match her complaints, he can't deny that she at least says his own body heat helps. She can press to him however often she waits, he decides, as it tends to fulfill that primal desire to provide for her and he's really come to like the sensation of her smoother, softer body against the hard edges of his plates and edges.

He listens as her breathing steadies and isn't surprised to feel her hands take on a more intelligent direction in their roaming, from mindlessly clutching to deliberating running her palms against their flat surfaces as she comes to. She never was one to sleep through her dreams, whatever plays in her minds too intense for her to pass over, and he doesn't know enough of human sleeping habits to make any other kind of observation on the matter.

"You shouldn't be laying on this bed," she says softly and lifts her head to lay a kiss on his keel. "It's bad for your back."

He flicks a mandible at her constant worrying over him. He's never had anyone to do it besides his mother and he's pretty sure he shouldn't like it as much as he does that Jane  _does_  care about the things he doesn't, but he guesses it has to go hand-in-hand with his own efforts towards her. "And you aren't supposed to be having nightmares." She lifts a brow with a slight turn to her lips and he says with an exaggerated huff of exasperation, "But you still do, leaving me to put myself in dire situations to care for you."

She snorts, but rolls to her back, tugging on his arm to silently command him back on top of her. "My hero," she says with a roll of her eyes, but her smile betrays her. "How will I ever survive without you?"

He hums at the hidden strength in her words, at the almost break in her voice half-way through her intended joke that took a turn for the serious, but doesn't say much else on the matter. Instead, he strokes his talons down her side to lightly circle the still healing bite at her hip. She giggles a bit at the sensation, her new skin obviously a lot more sensitive to sensation than she used to be even though she has some sort of synthetic weave that aids in healing and preventing massive injury, and he can't help the light flicker of his free mandible at the feminine noise he's only heard a few times from her.

"I guess you can tell I had a bad dream, huh?" Her hand runs over his fringe and over his neck, coming to a rest at his shoulder.

"That was pretty obvious," he agrees with a low rumble of unvoiced concern. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She doesn't respond for a moment and simply stares up at the shuttered window, her fingers drumming lighting on the plates of his shoulder. "Not really, but it might do me some good, you know? I keep thinking about to all that shit with Akuze and how it didn't get any better until I bucked up and  _did something_ … it's just that…"

He tilts his head up to see her biting her lip, her face pulled tight and brows drawn down. "Jane," she looks to him, her eyes shining with frustration and, remarkably, maybe even a bit of fear, "tell me."

"I'm afraid," she admits. He blinks, confused, and opens his mouth to speak, but she continues. "I'm afraid because it's right  _there_ ," she motions with her free hand to the ceiling, "and how the hell am I supposed to protect myself – anyone – from _that_? I'm not afraid to die, but I'm afraid of being helpless, dammit." She drops her hand and glare up at the shutter. "Give me a gun and I won't be afraid of a damn thing out on the field, but I can't compete with fucking space and it pisses me the fuck off."

Garrus sighs, his arm slung over her pulling her tighter to his chest, and nuzzles the uninjured side of his face against the soft skin of her chest. "Jane, I've already said that I'm behind you and that doesn't just mean having your six on the field. I'm with you until the end," he leans up on his forearm to look down at her, his blue eyes seeking her own emeralds, "and this time, the only way you're going to be out there in the dark of space is because I'm right there with you."

She smirks with a slight huff of mock-disappointment. "Going to belay orders?" She lifts a brow. "My, not very Turian of you."

He chuckles and presses his forehead to hers. "I never was a good Turian. They're too rigid and boring."

"I don't know…" She tilts her head and gazes upwards, as if deep in thought. "The last example of a 'good Turian' I met turned out to be anything  _but_  boring. And didn't you know," she leans up and whispers in his ear, "I heard he was even sleeping with a human Spectre."

He makes a show of scoffing at the return of that joke about the rumors of her back when they were hunting Saren and she laughs, letting her head fall back to the pillow. "You know you can't use that anymore," he says with a low purr and nuzzles the healing bondmark at her shoulder. "The rumors will never hold up now."

She chuckles and strokes the spinal plates on his neck soothingly, tilting her head to press her jaw against his head buried in her neck. "Aside from the fact that he's a pile of ash and most likely fertilizer for the Council's crappy garden, I see no reason to deny." He nips at her neck in admonishment and she laughs. "Oh come on, that bondmark on my neck isn't fooling anyone, Garrus. Hmm, I wonder if Saren would be rolling in his grave if he knew the horrible plans I have. After all, it's not like someone's going to measure the teeth impressions to find a match."

Knowing she isn't going to quite with the nipping tactic, he decides to change his method of reprimand, licking roughly once across said bondmark, smirking at her responding jerk of surprise. She swats half-heartedly at his shoulder and he growls playfully. "Keep that up and I'll have to find a way to occupy your mind  _elsewhere_."

"Dork," she snorts but caresses the left side of his neck. "I did have a question about that, though." He shifts up, genuinely curious at what she's wondering and she smiles assumingly. "It's nothing huge, just wondering about Turian teeth." She runs a single finger lightly along where his teeth are currently covered by bandage on his right side. "You didn't fuck up your jaw biting me twice night before last, did you?"

He chuckles and presses his muzzle into her palm since he still can't stand the pressure of her touch on his right side without pain. "Turian mouths aren't made of glass like human jaws." She pouts her lips, narrowing her eyes, and he presses his mouth to hers to placate her, humming when he feels her lips curve in a smile against him.

Pulling back, he sees her furrowed brow and her flat teeth take her lip for a moment before she speaks. "Not to sound weird or anything, but…do these," she motions with her head towards her left, "look different from the one you gave me  _before_?"

He is left speechless at that for a moment, wondering just what the hell that means, but a searching flick of his tongue across his teeth immediately bring to light just  _what_  she's asking without actually bringing attention to it. His teeth would have been shattered along with his jaw from the blast, and though normally not that big of a deal for a species that can regrow their teeth, he knows the smoother surfaces on his right side are not, and never will be, his real teeth. He knows Chakwas, a doctor clearly skilled in multiple species' care, would never feel the need to give him artificial replacements solely because his had been damaged unless there was no hope of him ever growing his own back, the nerves in his jaw just too damaged to make it possible.

Fake teeth is something he can live with, though. After all, it's not uncommon for Turians to need them once they reach a certain age and the tiny nerves just don't work the same anymore. It's a  _very old_  age, sure, and not even his own parents need replacements yet, but it all doesn't amount to the feeling that his own bite pattern – something distinctly unique to each Turian and completely different from any other – could be different.

However, would different teeth necessarily mean a different pattern? Chakwas never said anything about completely replacing that half of his mouth, only that she had to implement cybernetics, so wouldn't his jaw still be his own? Would the sockets for his teeth not still remain and wouldn't Chakwas replace his teeth where they belonged? Would he not be able to tell the difference of the set of teeth he's had for thirty years?

Rumbling in thought, he runs his tongue over the smooth surface of whatever synthetic material is used for his false teeth before looking to his wife, her eyes concerned at the outcome of her worry. He rumbles again, this time in assurance, and nuzzles his free mandible against her cheek. "Don't worry. They check out." She huffs a laugh and he licks her cheek lightly. "Even if they aren't my teeth, the scar will be the same."

"Dang. I guess we can't make you a new identity, huh?" she jokes and he lets his mandible click against his plates in amusement, but doesn't lift his head as he shamelessly nuzzles behind her ear, tangling the prongs of his free mandible in her red hair. "So, you're like George Washington, huh? Only, this time, you have metal teeth instead of wood?"

"I don't even know who that is," he responds with a grunt. "And why did humans put wood in their mouths? Is that sanitary?"

"Well, what do you expect from the eighteen hundreds? Or, I think it was eighteen hundreds…" She shrugs with a huff. "Shit, most I know about history is that he was the first President of the United States and he had wooden teeth. That's about it."

"More than I know." She snorts and taps a flat hand against his shoulder in reprimand. "And it's not just  _metal teeth_. I'm sure there's some covering on them to make them feel a little more natural." He flicks his tongue against them again, considering it a blessing that they are probably some of the best available. He never would have thought he'd be worried about false teeth this early in his life, but life has a funny way of changing. "At least I won't have to worry about the metal getting cold with whatever synthetic overlay they have."

"Yeah, definitely wouldn't like to think how that'd feel on your gums." Her body shivers and he chuckles, knowing that, for this time at least, it's not because she's legitimately cold. "Could you imagine what licking a battery-"

"Commander," the artificial intelligence interrupts, its tone near apologetic for interrupting. "We will be arriving at the Citadel within the hour."

Jane snorts, but doesn't move or try to untangle him from her hair. "EDI… doll… honeybunch…" he chuckles at her tone, the poor AI probably not programmed for her special sense of sarcasm, "what time is it?"

"It is 0320, Arcturus Station Standard."

"Oh boy, better alert the crew. Wake everyone up so they can lose sleep to wait around the ship for an hour and a half while we go through docking procedures." She sighs and he licks her ear, chuckling softly at the silence of the hologram near the door of the cabin. "EDI?"

A pause. "Yes, Commander Shepard?"

"That was a joke." She rubs under his fringe and he growls, surprised but not at all against where this silent cue is going. "Wait until the ship is nearly clear with docking procedures before addressing the crew. If Miranda doesn't like it, tough. We've been running five days without break since Cerberus gave us the keys, give people a day to sleep a little late."

"Of course, Shepard. Logging you out."

They share a laugh at her tormenting the poor intelligence, her little effort of rebellion against the idea of Cerberus putting an AI in her ship after making her career fighting Geth, and he drops his head to her neck, running his tongue up the sensitive area along her pulse. Her breath quickens and she tilts her head back to give him more access. "You better not be teasing me, mister."

He chuckles and lets his teeth scrape against her pale flesh, leaving dull white lines that fade as quickly as they are made. "Actually," he drawls, pretending to consider, "Now that you mention it, I'm sure there is some work I can do on the guns before we need to go out today."

She scoffs and swats lightly at his uninjured shoulder. "You little shit… You better not be leaving me high and dry for fucking  _calibrations_."

"I definitely wouldn't be leaving you 'high and dry'," he throws back with a smirk she can't see as he lifts to travel lower. "Way I hear, human women are the exact opposite when aroused."

"You are such a nerd." He looks to her with a smirk and she's smiling as her hands wrap around his neck on his left and his waist on his right, her tiny nails pressing just so that she rips a rolling thrum from his chest to betray his earlier threat. "Quick reciting medical books and use that mouth for something more entertaining."

He chuckles as his hands move to her hips and her thighs, spreading and holding her legs apart. "Is that an order?," he purrs with a growl as he shifts himself lower, stopping at her bare breasts to breathing hotly against her, growling when her nipples perk at the sensation. He licks them once and moves again, coming to his destination and cups her rear, not helping the urge to squeeze the globes in his hands. "Good thing that it's an order I actually have no problem follow."


	15. Chapter 15

-Garrus-

When Jane approached him in the battery after they returned from the Citadel, he was surprised to hear she was planning to bring back the mandatory meals shared amongst the ground crew. Of course, he knew better than to doubt her ability to get everyone to follow the order, and it was an order if that wicked grin and light in her eyes was anything to go by. Coupled with her 'we're all going to eat like a  _big, happy family_ ', he's sure not even Jack would be crazy enough to doubt his mate's cleverly disguised command to 'listen or else'.

So it with her unique charm that the small group of her thrown together misfits find their ways slowly up to the mess. Somehow, she had managed to convince -  _threaten politely_  - the thief, Kasumi Goto, to attend without the safety net of her cloak, even if she still tries to distance herself by taking a seat at the far end of the long table and keeps her head down under her black hood.

"Ah… Jack," he hears Jane say as she opens her arms with a wide grin at the approaching woman to their settling group. "So happy you decided to grace us with your sunny personality."

"Screw you, Shepard." She scowls at the table before turning her anger back to Jane. "And what the fuck gives? I already said I'd work for you. That didn't come with agreeing to your touchy-feely bullshit."

Surprisingly, Jane's expression doesn't drop, though Garrus knows it's more of a bad sign than one who doesn't know her would expect. Instead of returning the biotic's ire, a single red brow lifts and her smirk grows sharp. "Oh? Too bad you aren't going to be eating in your hidey-hole. We could get mice, you know."

"Cut the crap, Shepard," she snaps, storming into Jane's personal space. He sees his wife's expression sharpen, the only sign of her patience quickly draining with the invasion, but she lets the tattooed woman continue. The rest of the group smartly stays quiet, watching the two women to see which will come out on top. "I work for you. That's it. You can take your dinner and shove it up your fucking ass."

Jane's face relaxes into a smooth mask and she takes a moment to look around the room. "Unfortunately for you, working for me comes with stipulations. You all need to learn to get along if you expect to see anything but the metal walls of this ship."

"And if I don't?"

She narrows her eyes at the bald woman. "Then you learn to pretend. Put on your adult panties, bite your tongue, and suck it up, woman." She looks to the group. "Same goes for all of you."

"Fuck you, Shepard. I don't have to do shit." She looks to the table and locks eyes on Lawson, whatever feud the two have from the moment of meeting making her lip curl as she spits out her words. "Kiss ass with Cerberus all you want, but leave me out of it."

Jane snorts and folds her arms over her chest. "You don't eat with the group, you don't eat." She nods towards the mess. "Everything on a ship is sealed and able to be locked to keep things from turning into flying shrapnel in a crash." She smiles, her eyes dark. "What do you think will last, your will or EDI's locks?"

A few mouths drop around the table, probably wondering it Jane really would deny the crew food, and Garrus flicks his mandible in a knowing smile, the only one to know that yes, she definitely  _would_ , never one to give empty threats. Jack invading her space may be the reason for her to offer such a harsh punishment in the first place, but it certainly seems like the only thing that would get through to the woman, eventually.

Jack scoffs and throws a hand in Jane's face. "Fuck you, Shepard." She turns and storms off, her arms glowing blue with her rage.

"Damn," Jacob finally seems to manage, cutting the awkward stillness to the air around the crew. "I'm scared to say I liked the other way you showed your anger… ma'am."

Jane snorts and rolls her eyes, finally turning to the group. "I'll be sure to remember to dispense my justice in the form of a fist from now on. Here," she motions to the large pot in the center of the table, "levo food's on the table. I'll be right back." She lays a hand on Garrus' shoulder in a silent 'stay' and leaves the small alcove of their table to move towards the kitchen.

"She always been like that?" the burly, scared mercenary huffs with a raised brow around his colored eye as he slops something Garrus thinks is whatever Jane called 'spaghetti', though the sauce is much more watery than he remembers it looking.

He nods with a short hum. "Pretty much. Though, Jack's problem wasn't going against her orders, it was the threat of her proximity when she stormed her."

A plate drops to the table before him and he looks up to his mate, a smirk on her face when she turns to the group as she takes a seat at his side. "Bitch done got in my face," she jokes as she scoops food to her plate. "But Garrus is right. I can take a lot, but getting in my face is bound to always get a reaction."

"Good to know," Miranda replies with a smirk, twirling some noodles around her fork.

"Are you really going to cut off Jack's food?" A hooded head lifts from her plate enough to see the striped lips twitch into a confused frown. "That doesn't necessarily sound like something to do when we're going on a suicide mission."

"Oh, Kasumi," Jane squints and holds a hand against her brow to shield her eyes as she pretends to search for the woman. "Can't tell that's you all the way over there." She smirks and takes a bite of her food, speaking around it. "And just because I'm cutting her food doesn't mean I'm cutting her hours on the field. She drops same as everyone else." She swallows and takes a drink. "One way or another, something will give. Either she drops, or her resistance does."

"Cold bitch," Zaeed huffs with a grin where he's paying most of his attention to scarfing down his food.

Miranda sighs. "As much as that sounds like the only way to get through to that skull-headed woman, we can't risk losing a member of the team, Shepard. Is proving your command really that important?"

Garrus, unable to really be quiet when he knows all too well the importance of this weird routine Jane created from the previous Normandy, of how it helped even the deepest of hatreds ease enough to work on the field together, cuts into the conversation despite wanting to stay out of it. "This isn't about dominance. It's about earning, and offering, trust. Trusting that, despite your personal grievances."

Jane smiles and nods. "Right. This could all just be a one-way trip, but I'll be damned if I don't at least  _try_  to make it out. I need a team that's completely committed to the cause, to success, for that." She takes another forkful of food into her mouth. "That means we all have to keep from shooting each other in the backs," she smirks, "Save that for shore leave."

Zaeed laughs from his spot at the table and slams a hand on the table. Miranda pulls away from that, her lip raised in disgust as Jacob chuckles softly. "Hell, Shepard," the older male says with that rough rasp. "At least I won't be going to my bloody death bored. Not with the way you're running this ship."

"Aw," she holds a hand to her chest and flickers her eye lashes in mock bashfulness, making Garrus chuckle lightly. "You have no idea how much it means to know you're having  _such_  a great time on my ship." She snorts at herself and turns her attentions to Garrus at her side, frowning with a head tilt towards his food. "Why aren't you eating?"

He flicks a mandible and lifts a brow. "You mean you don't remember the last time I ate your cook's food?"

"You mean when you nearly choked because he used too much pepper?" she answers with a smirk.

Shaking his head in amusement at the memory of the horrible food that actually managed to taste worse than the rations on the SR1, he says, "If only it was that simple." She raises a brow and he motions towards his untouched food. "Point is, I'm not doing that again. I'll just make something we picked up today on the Citadel."

She smiles and pushes the plate closer to his chest with a finger. "Then I guess it's a good thing Gardner didn't make that, huh?" He tilts his head in confusion and she beams, lifting her chin slightly. "What? You don't think I can't follow directions?"

"You made this?" He points at it, a brow plate raised in astonishment at her managing to make something that actually smells pretty good from where it sits on the plate, even if it's a bit strange looking.

She shrugs and spins her fork in her own food. "Doesn't look too pretty, but if the directions are right, it should be edible." She takes a bite. "Tried it myself, but you know how my taste buds always think your food is different."

He chuckles at that and, noticing that everyone's attention now on him gives him no choice in the manner, stabs a piece of the purplish-blue meat on his plate with his own utensil. Not sure how to take his wife's expectant smile, he takes the food into his mouth, using his tongue to pull it off of the prongs of the metal eating implement. "It's…good," he hums in surprise around his food, tilting his head back enough to let it slide down his throat.

"That's believable," Kasumi says with a quirk of her lips and Jane hushes her with a swat of her hand in the air.

"Silence woman," Jane reprimands with a smile, obviously excited to hear the complete verdict. Turning back she motions to the food again, nearly bounding in her seat. "Well? Just 'good'?"

He chuckles at her fishing and nods, making sure she sees him move for another bite. "Sure…" he smirks, "A bit bland, but not surprising for a MRE."

"Uh-oh," Taylor says as he finished the last of his drink, a grin on his face. "Insulting a woman's cooking? Bad move, Vakarian."

He hums and smirks at his mate. "What could you possibly do? Send me on a suicide mission with little hope of return? Oh wait, that's what we're doing?" He tilts his head in amusement. "Guess you don't have anything else to threaten me with."

Jane snorts and lifts a brow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back in her seat, her own plate cleaned. "That's where you got it wrong. A suicide run is just want you want." She shakes her head with a look of contemplation. "No, I think I'd rather do something you  _really_  wouldn't like. How about condemning you to the Citadel?" she asks with a sly smile.

He cringes at the thought and the table laughs. "Please, anything but that. I don't think I could deal with more of the Council after today." He growls lightly at the way they completely blew her off, no matter what she said.

Jacob shakes his head with a knowing frown. "I heard you had a meeting with them today. Can't imagine that went well."

Jane scoffs dismissively and shrugs. "As if I expected anything else. Assholes." She sighs, rubbing a hand at her temple. "Turns out that you were right when you said the Council and Alliance just don't give a shit about the colonies."

Miranda sighs in disappointment. "Of course we were right when we told you the  _truth_. Why do you still think Cerberus is trying to hide something from you?"

"How about because Cerberus is full of fucking liars?" Jane's red brows draw down and she glares across the table. "And if you aren't all blowing it out your asses, you're twisting your words to fit your fucked up agenda." She slams her fists on the table and stands. "You people can't even get your shit together enough to give me complete files on my supposed crew. This Warlord – Okeer? – it took you asshats over a week to finally figure the hell out where he even was."

Standing to match, Lawson crosses her arms over her chest. "You're forgetting that you weren't ready to even be  _up_ , let alone taking to the field. Those Dossiers were meant to be ready when you were, you can't expect information to just present itself because you demand it."

Jane leans on her hands over the table top and stares the woman down, her eyes as fiery as her hair. "You'd be pretty surprised what I can get by yelling loud enough, Lawson."

"Commander Shepard," the AI suddenly intones.

"What EDI?" she snaps, turning her ire on the holographic projection.

"You wished to be advised whenever you received a message from Alliance command." Garrus hums, remembering the personal favor she had asked of the human Councilor about getting a chance to visit the planet she lost her ship on – he lost  _her_  on.

Jane sighs, closing her eyes as her anger drains. "Miranda… I made a deal with you, but you're making it hard to keep… Understand that I don't _hate_  you, I don't  _like_  you, but you're quickly making it hard to distinguish between the two." Green eyes open and she pushes off from the table. "Take my advice and drop the shit before I decide my honor isn't worth the effort."

She leaves a parting hand on his shoulder and motion towards his plate – a silent 'finish up before joining me upstairs' – and he sighs inwardly at the awkward tension floating in the air. Stabbing a piece of his food with a scowl, as if it's to blame, he barely catches when the Cerberus operative sighs and turns blue eyes to him. "Can't you talk some sense into her? Make her see reason?"

He lifts a brow at her cocked hip, unmoved by her air of importance. "About what? The way she sees you?" He snorts dismissively and shakes his head. "I'm only going to give you this because I, in some part, owe her life to you." Garrus stands, not in the mood to eat anymore and looks over at Lawson. "Stop trying to justify Cerberus to her. She'll never see them as anything but the people responsible for Akuze. If you want her to think differently about you, stop being a Cerberus operative and start being Miranda Lawson."


	16. Chapter 16

-Jane-

"So I've been thinking," she says as with a thump as her armored back hits the cover her husband is sniping from.

"Oh boy," he sarcastically adds with a smirk as he takes another Blue Suns down, ignoring the blue and violet tornado that is Jack across the way. "I can't wait to hear this."

Jane snorts, letting him take another shot as she biotically pulls a damaged mech towards a charging Krogan, causing it to stumble at the mechanical explosion. Both ducking back down, she continues. "Thing is, everyone we're bringing on is only because Cerberus tells us to."

"Meaning?" He lifts a brow plate.

" _Meaning_ , what if we brought on someone ourselves?" She waits for him to take another shot before motioning to the large window of the lab that overlooks the battlefield. "This business with Okeer trading tech with the Collectors has me thinking, we don't have anyone skilled in the tech." She leans up and takes a shot at the large Atlas Mech with her pistol, dragging its attention from cornering Jack. "I mean, Mordin can keep the bugs from turning us into statues, but what about their weapons? Their defenses? We don't have any experts for that."

Garrus hums as a Krogan's head disintegrates across the field. "And just how do you plan on finding this expert?" They duck back under to reload. "All of your information comes from Cerberus. Don't you think they'd have already looked?"

She shrugs. "Still doesn't hurt to try. You can't tell me that with all the trades the Collectors supposedly do with people that there isn't at least  _one_  person who can tell us a thing or two about what these assholes are packing." She glows blue and lifts from cover, disappearing in a blur as she charges an approaching merc. The human staggers as their shield fizzles and pops, letting her put the pistol to their temple and pull the trigger. A loud crack echoes just as the body hits the ground, dropping the second merc just as she's turning and jumping the barrier back to her mate's side. "So I was thinking about maybe pulling a few strings of our own. Shaking the tree to see what falls out."

"Shaking the…?" He shakes his head, dropping it. "Still doesn't help the fact that neither one of us has the connections to look for this person." He pops out and takes a shot, the butt of his gun making a slight clank as the recoil causes it to connect with his chest plate. "And I doubt they'll just answer an ad on the extranet asking for an expert in illegal Collector tech."

Jane frowns, ignoring the ear shattering scream of rage from Jack that's followed by a large crash and explosion. "I know, I already tried that."

He stops mid-stance and looks to her. "You're joking."

"No," she assures with a huff and pout of her lip. "And then I was even asked to remove it. Assholes." She lifts and throws a pull at an incoming Krogan, stumbling him enough for Garrus to get a shot that downs him for good. "I was thinking maybe we could go to the Shadow Broker. You know, buy some information?"

He flicks a mandible at that, his hands moving on instinct as he switches heat sinks. "Haven't we already gotten ourselves into enough trouble with them from Saren? I really don't think it's good to – what's the term? – dig the hole deeper?"

She laughs at that and nods, smirking at him actually using a very apt reference. "That's exactly why I thought we should just buy the information. No back room deals, no deals or favors, or any terms or circumstances. Just money for info." She lifts and lays a few more shots at the Atlas, the sparks coming off it and slow reactions showing it's near its limit. "Plus, I think Barla Von is still working on the Citadel somewhere. Might be nice to pay the little bastard a visit," she jokes.

He flicks his mandible, unamused. "Right… why not? That couldn't possibly end up ending horribly for us."

"Would you two stop fucking and  _shoot something_?!" Jack screams and Jane silently thanks the fact that they realized real quick to mute their comms whenever the biotic woman took to the field else both of their ears would be bleeding profusely.

"Calm your tits, Jack," Jane yells back over their cover with a grin. "Looks like fun's over," she whispers to Garrus as she lets the flush of biotics run over her skin, prepping for a charge. "I got Jedore if you cover my back."

He scoffs, but his mandible flicks in a grin. "As if you ever need to doubt."

Taking that as an affirmative, Jane lets her power surge her body forward, ignoring the sputtering mech as Jack literally rips it apart with her own biotics, and slams straight into the female mercenary. The woman's battle roar cuts off with a loud grunt and cracking of the ceramic plating of her armor as she flies back from the impact, her back slamming to the ground. Moving fast, Jane crouches and slams the butt of her pistol against the visor, shattering it so she can slip the barrel past the solid plates of protection and pull the trigger while the woman is still dazed.

A loud register of a rifle bounces off the walls just as Garrus orders, "Take cover." She doesn't question, doesn't hesitate, as she throws herself behind a low wall, smirking slightly at the thump of the near naked biotic as she skids to a stop against Jane's armor. Mechanical grinding, followed by an explosion that leaves her ears ringing, marks the destruction of the oversized mech and Jack yells, throwing her arms in the air in a victory cry.

"Fuck yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" She grins manically. "That all you got?"

Jane rolls her eyes, but doesn't speak as she hears the low click of someone connecting to the comm from the ship. "Commander, Warlord Okeer's vital signs are dropping," she hears EDI's calm voice intone. "I suggest haste."

"Right." She turns to Jack. "Jack." No response. " _Jack_." Still no response and she rolls her eyes, figuring she might as well get the woman's attention some other way. With a sigh, Jane approaches the woman and, slipping a finger under one of the straps of the woman's top, pulls back and releases to let it snap back with a sharp slap.

"Ow!" Jack yells, clasping a hand on her breast. "What the fuck, Shepard?! That was my fucking tit!"

She snorts. "I've been wanting to do that since Purgatory." She motions towards the lab. "Come on, we're losing Okeer. Double time it, woman."

Surprisingly, she doesn't cut back with any insults or foul language and, instead, nods sharply though her expression is clearly still pissed. Jane takes it for the small victory that it is, the woman nearly impossible since they moment she arrived on the Normandy, and takes back to the lab with Garrus at her side, rifle at the ready in case they find trouble.

They find Okeer dead, fallen to the gases the mercenary commander had pumped into the lab earlier, but he left a message for them, a plea. In it, he quite literally begs Jane to take his 'perfect Krogan' and finds herself stuck. Should she just accept this genetically engineered Krogan onto her ship? Is it really worth the possible information they could discover from whatever Collector tech Okeer shoved up this test tube Krogan's ass?

She sighs and looks to the ceiling in exasperation. "You know, I swear it's like everything comes full circle to haunt me." She looks to her husband, his eyes scanning the tank holding the still Krogan. "Am I the only one getting déjà vu?"

"You mean of Saren's Krogan?" He glances over before focusing back to the tank. "Leave it, Jane. It can't possibly end well whenever the geneophage is involved."

She shakes her head with a frown. "You know I can't just do that on a 'what if'. Okeer said it himself, this Krogan isn't a cure, 'it's a solution'," she imitates the Warlord with a huff over whatever the hell he even meant. "So he may not even be anything besides a test-tube baby."

"How is this any different from Virmire?" He shakes his head. "You had no problem destroying that facility without knowing for sure of what Saren had managed to do and now you want to completely go against that and take that thing on the Normandy? Leave it," he growls in frustration, "it'll die on its own when it runs out of power."

Jack rolls her eyes from where she had tried to take refuge at the far end of the lab. "Leave it or take it, just make up your fucking mind. I don't want to be here all day.

Jane sends her husband a silently apology as she opens a communications link to the ship. "Normandy, we need a pick-up. Send a shuttle capable of carried a heavy load." She gives the tank a last look. "And a lift too. He's a big one."

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

_Well, releasing a 'perfect Krogan' from cryogenic hibernation? Definitely not something I'd ever thought I'd be doing._

Jane works her neck back and forth a bit as she messages her chest where the Krogan, Grunt, had pressed his gauntlet when he pinned her. It'd probably leave a bruise, but she can't help but admit that she's pretty damn impressed with herself to have managed to talk him down without having to put a bullet in his thick hide.

If she learned anything from Wrex, it was that Krogan were a great ally to come to rely on on the battlefield. Also, they can't deny a good show of strength and balls – or quads, as Wrex would say - and if that wasn't what she just did down in the port cargo hold by staring down the angered Krogan in nothing more than civvies, she doesn't know what is. She decides that she can't wait to see what the genetically engineered Krogan can do out on the field and grins at the thought of it being like old times, not quite the same without Wrex, but close enough.

Her amusement is cut short when she steps off the elevator and a big, angered Turian pins her to the wall in such a way that she nearly laughs at how similar it looks to just a few moments ago. "Does the threat of waking a _Krogan_  mean nothing to you, Jane?" he growls, his mandibles clamped to his jaw.

"Calm the fuck down, Garrus." She scowls and shoves his arm, snapping him out of his hazy enough to let her down though his growl doesn't die. "I had to release him. He's a fucking Krogan. You really think I was going to just pass that up?"

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" He frowns and tightens his hands into fists. "This isn't just something to sate your curiosity. You think just because you got along with Wrex you automatically can get along with every other Krogan? You must be either naïve or stupid."

Jane's jaw drops and her brows lift in utter shock. "How  _dare_  you! I'd have you know that if it wasn't for me going against reason, you'd be bleeding to fucking death on that shithole, Omega! Is that what you want?! To be some-"

She's cut off by a swoosh of the laboratory's doors as Mordin rushes through, humming some tune under his breathe. He stops midstep at the two, black eyes taking them both in before nodding. "Ah. Wanted to speak with you. Both together much more efficient."

"Uh," Jane stutters, glancing at her husband who actually seems to have lost some of his anger at the oddity that is the Salarian professor. "Kinda in the middle of something here, Mordin."

"Perfect reason to speak with you. Medical matters. Aware mission is dangerous. Danger presents stress. Different species react differently to stress. Sometimes with violence." He pointedly looks between the two, noting their stiff postures and close proximity, obviously deducting Garrus' ambush. "Aware tensions between the two of you. Possibly of sexual nature. Common for Turians and Humans both to find intercourse relaxing."

She can't stand it, bursting into laughter at the Salarian's cluelessness. The thought that he  _wouldn't_  already know she and Garrus are having sex is possibly the most hilarious thing she's ever heard. What's even better is the look of confusion on the man's face and it has her getting red and teary, her lungs burning as she tries to suck in air.

"No reason for amusement," he responds with a shake of his head, eyes blinking in confusion. "Would never dream of jest."

Garrus chuckles. "She's not laughing about that, she's laughing because you are  _way_  behind with your advice. Jane and I have been 'finding intercourse relaxing' for years."

Jane gets herself together enough to add, "Yeah, Mordin. If you didn't sequester yourself up in the lab, you'd know we aren't at all trying to keep it a secret." She snorts, fighting the attack of her amusement. "Though I'd never say no to a little more 'educational material'. Give it to me doc," she says with a smirk.

Mordin nods, oblivious to her absolutely ridiculous amount of amusement over the situation, and opens up his Omni-Tool. "Will provide you with diagrams, positions pleasurable for both. Also, predicament offers unique opportunity-"

Jane lifts a hand to stop him. "If you are fixing to request we have sex in the lab so you can run tests, you're going to either need to get me really drunk or blackmail me."

Garrus snorts. "Or just do it when you aren't looking." She glares at him and he shrugs. "What? You  _do_  know we could have been caught in the Comm room, right?"

"No, no. Not asking for visual reference." He shakes his head and Jane takes a chance to throw her husband a look that promises retribution for the mention of the conference room incident. "Direct access to Turian / Human relationship could offer valuable insight. Could test amino acid sensitivities."

"Okay, okay," she says, unable to really get into just how the man wants to test these things. "First things first, hand over the medical porn and then we'll talk." Garrus laughs. "And it better be good if you want me to even  _think_  about whatever weird shit you're talking about."

"Nothing 'weird', vital for understanding." Mordin seems really confused about the entire thing, not understanding what the big deal is with butting into the two's private lives and sexual escapades.

"Look. I should go. Or you should go. Either way, this is getting really awkward talking to a Salarian doctor about our sex lives. The  _same_ Salarian doctor who, just yesterday was talking about scale itch." Jane rubs her hand through her hair, frowning at the flecks of dirt she needs to wash out. "It's been a really long day and I'm absolutely filthy. I need to eat and I'm tired-"

Garrus grabs her free hand and tugs her towards the lift. "I think he gets it Jane." With the doors enclosing them in the dark of the elevator, he pulls her to his chest, rumbling. "I still haven't forgotten about you releasing the Krogan."

"Admit it, you're jealous you didn't do it first."

He snorts. "No. If it was me, I would've destroyed it." He rests his head against hers, breathing deeply. "But I can't change you. You will always do something once you get the thought in your head, even if it's a horrible idea to begin with." She snorts, but he ignores her. "I honestly don't know if it's because of stubbornness or what, but you seem to do things just because someone says not to." He lifts her head and raises a brow.

"Yep, you got me." She smiles and leans up on her toes, kissing him. He sighs and she frowns at his frustration. "Look, I won't do it again, okay?"

"Yes you will, Jane. It's just how you are, what you do with what we're given." He nuzzles his forehead to hers, his chest vibrating. "Just promise me that, next time, you won't do it alone?"

She smiles, her eyes shining at recognizing what he isn't saying. "So next time I wake up a sleeping Krogan you want to be there?"

He chuckles. "Sure, so long as I get to press the button."


	17. Chapter 17

-Jane-

This was their big break, their shot at the Collectors before they could escape back into anonymity. Horizon, a human colony in the Terminus Systems, had suddenly fallen silent.

How Cerberus managed to find out about this in time that they may have a chance at the Collectors, Jane isn't sure she wants to know. It only leads to more questions about the shadowy organization and more reasons why she knows this whole deal of working with them is a horrible, horrible idea bound to blow up in her face. She has to remain at least civil when dealing with them in order to get this mission over with and to do that, she needs to put her head in the sand about their possible spy connections in the Alliance, at least this once.

Speaking of the Alliance, Ashley Williams, Jane's former Gunnery Chief and friend, is supposedly stationed on Horizon at this very moment. Sure, Jane's relationship with the woman was rocky at best, at-each-other's-throats at worst, but she still doesn't want to think of what could happen if the Collectors really are behind the communications blackout. Every colony hit so far has been completely wiped out, its citizens taken to gods know where.

Still, something in her mind still nags at the feeling of everything being so coincidental. An Alliance soldier that Jane just happened to know and work with stationed on a far flung colony out of official Alliance space that  _also_  happens to fall silent, a criteria that fits every other colony attacked by the Collectors? Just how is they get the chance to be the first responders to an emergency that can't even be broadcasted over proper radio channels?

 _Just drop it, Jane,_  she scolds inwardly.  _If Cerberus wants to screw you over with this, they wouldn't have spent the shitload of money it took to put you back together. They may be stupid, but I've never seen them throw money away._

Stepping into the Tech Lab - _the lair to the Normandy's very own mad scientist_  - Jane sees Mordin currently entrapped with the encased Collector Seeker. A good sign, hopefully, she decides as she makes herself known to the Salarian. "Please tell me you have good news." He turns to her, his expression slightly confused. "We're hitting Horizon. It's gone dark and suspicions are that the Collectors are involved." She approaches the tank with the strange insect and it slams against the glass. "Disgusting bastards."

Solus hums and smiles, nodding. "Excellent timing. Just ready to test counter measure to Seeker's identification protocol." Jane lifts a brow in question. "Dissection shows Seeker not solely organic. Technology contained within enables swarm to seek out targets no matter the efforts taken to hide. Explains footage from Freedom's Progress." He moves towards his table and lifts up a large, square piece of tech that looks like an old-fashioned armor mod. "Capability for Quarian to slip unnoticed by Seekers without humans able to do the same sign of technological protocol to seek out only designated targets. Collector's interest in Humans. No need to code Seeker for xeno DNA markers. Makes sense why captive Seekers show no aggression in lab unless human crew present. Here." He hands over the mod.

"Uh…what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" He blinks and looks pointedly at the tank. "Oh, hell no. I'm not sticking my hand in there."

He shakes his head. "No need to worry. Already tested with samples. Just need final test before adapting technology planetside."

"You just said these bastards use tech to hunt out humans by our DNA. How's an armor mod supposed to help?" She looks at the clunky piece of tech, remembering that even her own mods weren't this oversized and weighty. "And is the size really necessary?"

"Scientist. Geneticist. Not engineer. Need a specialist to adapt technology into more manageable size. Will do for now." He approaches and presses a button along the side, making the mod hum to life with a light green glow. "Modification for armor will disrupt Seeker signal. Create a cloak, if you will." He motions again. "Try."

She shakes her head. "You know if this doesn't work and I suddenly freeze up, the crew is going to kill you, right?" Sighing, she steps to the tank and, mod humming in hand, slips first a finger, then her whole hand into the one way seals in the front meant for contained examinations. "Huh," she says when the Seeker doesn't move, doesn't start trying to attack her hand, and just hovers in the air as if nothing has suddenly changed in its small containment. "You weren't kidding." She removes her hand and looks at it, stunned. "You think this could work against an entire swarm?"

He taps a finger to his chin. "Only way is to perform live test amongst Seeker swarms. Should work. In theory."

Jane's brows drop in a glare. "'In theory'? You sure know how to make a girl feel confident." She sighs and runs a hand over her head. "Let me guess, this is also you're only one?"

He nods. "Wouldn't want to waste resources if prototype not viable."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," she says to no one in particular. "Do you have any idea how to counteract whatever shit they inject into people?"

"Have run experiments on collected samples from dissecting other Seekers." He pulls out a tray with eight small vials. "Was able to synthesize possible agent to counteract paralyzing toxin. Time and level of effectiveness untested."

"Ugh," she groans, dropping her head into her free hand. "You're killing me, Solus." _Think, Jane, think._  "You said these assholes are targeting humans. What are the odds that aliens are going to be ignored on Horizon?"

He thinks a moment, eyes growing distant as he seems to be running scenarios. "No direct contact with Collectors so far to justify changing Seeker parameters. Odds in our favor that Seekers not yet adjusted to xenobiology."

Jane tosses the mod up in the air and catches it. "Good… because you're going with the team. If this piece of crap doesn't work, it's on you to drag my stiff ass out. EDI? Let Garrus and Grunt know we're dropping in thirty." The AI confirms the order as she returns her attention to Mordin. "You're lucky I like you. Else I'd be seriously doubting if this will work."

"Look forward to seeing if you survive," he responds with a smirk that leaves Jane laughing as she heads to get geared up.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

"And this is why we need someone who knows a God damn thing about Collector tech!" Jane's body flares blue in her angry as she kicks at the body of a fallen husk, her chest rising rapidly in exertion from running from cover to cover ahead of that monstrosity.  _Who the fuck thought of giving the damn thing a fucking mouth_ ** _full of husk heads_** _because that's definitely giving me nightmares._

"What's your problem?" Grunt asks with a hint of amusement. "You can't keep up, Shepard?"

Jane rolls her eyes and rolls her stiff neck, cringing at the feeling of grime from a Collector she bashed in with her shotgun after a charge.  _Of course I'd end up fighting giant roaches, figures._  She sighs at the little bit of comfort the movement gives, turning to Grunt and tapping her fingers at the Collector weapon strapped to her back without removing it. "This stupid thing doesn't work. Must be locked for Collector use only. At least if we had someone who could work Collector tech, we may be able to know if carrying this piece of shit around is even worth it."

"Might also give us the added bonus of knowing their weak spots," Garrus adds, looking up to the sky where the Collector ship disappeared into the sky, beyond their reach, and entirely full of colonists they couldn't rescue in time.

"Bio-signature locking mechanism? Like Spectre weaponry and technology." Mordin cups his chin in thought. "Could do to take weapon apart." He sighs. "Could have triggers against such tampering. Problematic."

Jane is about to respond when she hears incoming footsteps, running, and turns in time to see the mechanic –  _Delan? Dillon?_  - rush them, bolting past to collapse in the shadow of the communications tower they had had to jury rig in order to break through the Collector interference and reach the Normandy. "No! Don't let them get away. Do something!" Jane offers her hand for him to stand and he swats it away with a glare. "The whole colony is in there. Everyone. You were supposed to help them, bring them back!"

Angry, she narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest to keep from laying the man out. She did her best and this asshole wants to rub her failure in her face? "And what the fuck do you expect me to do? Grow wings and fly after them? Maybe if you weren't pissing yourself in your garage-"

A hand lays on her shoulder and she turns to see her husband, a low rumble barely audible. "We did our best, Shepard." Her frustration eases a bit at that, knowing him enough that even 'their best' wasn't good enough, but it's all they can do to keep from breaking on this now-desolate colony.  _Save it for the ship_ , his actions seem to say.

"Shepard?" The mechanic pulls himself up off the ground and squints at her. "I know that name… Figures," he spits out, "You're supposed to be some big Alliance hero. Just what we need." He frowns, his distaste for the human military group clear from both his words earlier and now.

"Not just any hero." Jane's eyes widen in shock at the familiar voice - expecting it since she knew the woman would be here yet not really wanting to hope she had been lucky enough to slip past the Collector's 'collecting' – as the woman approaches, her face pulled tight and expressionless. "Commander Shepard. Captain of the Normandy. The first human Spectre and Savior of the Citadel." She frowns before looking to the last remaining colonist with a light smirk. "You're in the presence of a goddamn legend, Delan." She pointedly looks to Jane, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "And a ghost."

Delan, as Jane now knows her to be, scoffs and doesn't even make an effort to hide his absolute distrust and hatred for the former Chief. "Of course  _you'd_ manage to slip past the Collectors, Alliance scumbag." He spits into the dirt at their feet. "Fuck this. I'm done with you Alliance assholes."

Ash watches with light amusement as the man storms off, obviously aware of the prejudice and not at all intimidated by it. A younger Ashley Williams would have taken it personally, but she seems to have grown in the two years, matured past falling for petty insults.  _Another thing to remind me how much I've missed._

Finally alone – or as alone as they can be with Jane's squad still at her back – Williams turns directly to Jane, revealing yet another kind of shell shock. Vibrant against her white Phoenix armor is a painted insignia of N-5, a statement to all of just how much the woman has changed in the time between.

"Damn," Jane huffs with a grin. "N-5, huh? Can't say I'm surprised you decided to apply and have gotten as far as you have already."

She's being honest, too. The woman, once she put aside her ideals that the entire universe was against her, was a good soldier. Sure, at the time they knew each other, she wasn't anywhere near the level of N initiates, with her stark xenophobic attitude and tendency to take reprimands at personal attacks, but she definitely had to have proven herself to the Alliance by fighting alongside Jane on the Normandy.

Ashley, however, isn't moved by the attempt at small talk. Instead, she steps closer – for a better look at the now-alive Spectre – and searches Jane's face. "I thought you were dead. We all did."

Jane shrugs with a smirk. "I got better."

Surprisingly, Williams laughs, her solid mask of professionalism shattering. "Damn…it really is you, huh?" She pulls Jane into a hug, patting hard on her back with a solid hand before pulling back, her face drawn in confusion, her tumultuous emotions and thoughts evident in her dark brown eyes. "I don't understand. You show up after  _two years_  and just act like nothing happened? Like everything that happened meant nothing?" She throws her hands up and paces. "The whole damned reason I even put in an application for N-training was because of  _you_. Being on the Normandy was the best part of my career, my life. You were more than a Commander to me – to all of us. And you just disappear only to come back and make  _jokes_? Couldn't you at least have let me know? Or was I just not  _important_  enough to warrant a 'hello, I'm alive and well'?!"

"Are you fucking serious?!" Jane stomps forward and, grabbing the woman's armored shoulder, spins her to look her in the eyes, emerald green to earthy brown. "I wasn't even fucking conscious those two years, dammit. And even when I  _did_  ask about you, Anderson couldn't even tell me a damn thing because you were on a  _classified_  mission."

Williams jerks her arm from her grasp and scowls. "Oh? The only reason he wouldn't at least give you a way to contact me would be if the rumors are true. Are they?" She shoves Jane's shoulder. "Are you in bed with Cerberus, Shepard?"

Garrus growls lowly at Jane's back when the woman puts her hands on her, but she ignores it, knowing he won't move in unless she somehow loses control of the situation, which is highly unlikely. She'll give Ash the shove. After all, she did start it with the forceful move to make the woman pay attention.

"So Garrus too, huh?" the woman adds with a nod, forcing herself to calm down in response to seeing her former Commander's own efforts to relax. "Figures… he's always been your shadow since Saren. Alliance intel thought Cerberus was behind the colony attacks." She looks out over the abandoned area around the communications towers. "Looks like the tip about this one being next was right." She sighs. "Anderson stonewalled me when I came to him about the rumors, about how you may not be dead. Hell lot of help he gave. Couldn't even say if you were working for the enemy."

With a deep exhale, Jane crosses her arms at her chest. "Believe me, I didn't choose this. Colonies are disappearing and when I went for help, everyone turned their backs on me. 'There's no connection,' they all claimed. Cerberus is the only fucking group willing to get up off their asses-"

"Bullshit, Shepard," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I know what Cerberus was like.  _I_  still remember Admiral Kahoku. You know, the man who had to retire because he  _can't fucking walk_  without a cane?" She frowns and her lips grow tight. "What the hell, Shepard?! I wanted you to be alive, but with Cerberus? Have you forgotten all the ooh-rah shit you drilled into our heads on the Normandy?" Her face twists into anger and she spits, "You betrayed the Alliance. You betrayed your own damn morals. You may have been humanity's Spectre, but now you're just a Cerberus lap dog."

"Damn it, Williams," Garrus growls, stepping forward before stopping himself at Jane's side. His fists are clenched and vocals buzzing in frustrated agitation, but she trusts him not to make this worse by physically attacking their old friend, despite the insults to Jane's very ethics. "Stop being an idiot and look back Cerberus. You think I'd really sign myself up with a xenophobic group like Cerberus if it wasn't for a damn good reason. You think they would?" He points to Mordin and Grunt, the Salarian obviously intrigued by the train crash before him and the Krogan amused and most likely looking forward to violence to break out. "Open your damn eyes."

"Now you can't fight your own battles?" Ash looks to Jane and crosses her arms over her chest, making Jane clench her fists to keep from ruining this.  _It's understandable that she is confused. Hell, I was too at first. No need to cause more problems with letting this get out of hand._  "You've changed, Shepard. Garrus too. I used to respect you, but now I can't even look you in the eyes. Maybe it'd be better if you hadn't have come back. Then maybe I could still imagine you as the  _Savior of the Citadel_ , the loyal Alliance hero, not Cerberus' ass kisser."

Flaring blue, Jane steps forward and shoves a finger in Ashley's face. "Fuck you, Ash! Don't cite loyalty to me. I'm only doing what's right for  _everyone_  - humanity  _and_  the rest of the fucking galaxy – by fighting the Collectors. It doesn't matter what fancy insignia I paint on my armor," she waves at the N-5, "to get the job done, just that the fuckers go down. The Alliance isn't doing shit, so I joined up with someone who  _is_. Bitch and moan all you want, but don't you dare claim I betrayed anyone."

"Say whatever you want to make you feel better," Williams turns her back on the group. "But I'm giving my report to the Alliance and the Council about what happened here on Horizon. And don't expect me to do you any favors concerning your little  _team_."

Her body is trembling in rage, the pulsing violet buzzing in her ears, but she snaps out of it when she feels the hiss of someone passing into the possibly painful aura as they lay their hand on her shoulder. Dissipating the biotic cloak, she sighs and glances to her right where her mate looks to her in concern, though his harmonics sign in his own shared ire at the situation.

"Good riddance," Grunt scoffs. "She wouldn't have been a decent warrior anyways. Too emotional."

Mordin nods lightly and taps a finger on his chin. "Not much we can do for colony now that Collectors have fled."

"You're right," Jane admits, her shoulders tensing a bit in efforts to keep from dropping in disappointment of yet another bad reunion with a former team mate.  _First Tali and now Ash? What did I do to lose everyone's trust so easily? Could I have failed to gain believe in_ ** _me_** _and not whatever organization is at my back?_  Pulling her Omni-Tool up to link to the ship, she speaks, "Normandy – send a shuttle to pick us up. I'm fed up with this fucking back-water colony."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -SquigglySquid says: As you can tell, I took some liberties with some minor details to the story that I felt made sense. Again, not bashing Ashley and, in fact, understand most of the argument stated in the games over their refusal to join Shepard and suspicions over Cerberus, is they did manage to be a bit harsh in their delivery.


	18. Chapter 18

-Garrus-

Her back hits the mats with an 'oomph' and rush of breath that fans over his half-numb face plates. "Since when did you start fighting dirty?" she says from her position pinned beneath him with a smirk and raised brow.

"Since Omega," Garrus replies with a purr, delighted in the wondrous sensation of easing the stress building up from Horizon for the both of them. His body hums with that special relaxation he can only get from something physical, not by the pull of a trigger.

As an added bonus, sparring seems to have given pause to some of her anger. Of course he would have rather they had gone up to their cabin to spend the energy on something less painful and more pleasurable, but with her in the state he found her in when he came down the lift, this was probably for the best. With hopes, she'll be up to a more intimate version of stress relief that won't run the risk of him losing some of his best remaining assets.

"Omega, huh?" Jane squirms a bit under him, his only half-serious hold letting her shift her legs to wrap around his waist. "Can't say that this type of maneuver would be of much help to Archangel." She smirks and presses her hips to his. "Just who were you using this pin on? Blood Pack?"

He chuckles and grinds back against her, silently assuring that he knows her game. "Would explain why Garm was so adamant about killing me." He lifts his forearm from her chest to hold himself over her as she throws her arms over her head and onto the mat with a relaxed sigh. "I take it you're feeling better?"

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, sure… nothing a little beating from my space husband can't cure." He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it when she cuts him off with a look. "And no, that does not mean you won this match."

He hums with a smirk and lets his body relax a bit more against his mate. "I think our position begs to differ, Jane."

"Our position don't mean shit, Garrus," she retorts. "This is pretty much a win-win for both of us. Plus, you cheated." She pouts her lip and frowns, her eyes growing dark with recollection.

He rumbles and nuzzles against her sweaty temple. "This was supposed to make you stop thinking about it. I even let you get my good side a few times just to make you happy."

"You don't have a good side," she jokes, but she's distracted. He growls in reprimand and she snaps him a glare before her chest heaves in a sigh. "What do you want me to say? That everything Ash said down there didn't mean shit to me? At first it didn't. I understood every damn argument she had. Hell, I wasn't going to push her just like I didn't push Tali… but then she starts questioning  _me_?! And not just if I was really me or why I was doing what I was doing, but saying I didn't have the same fucking morals?" She tosses her hands up as much as she can in their position and lets them fall with a flop. "Everything I fucking  _do_  isn't even for me, it's for every other fucking person in this shithole galaxy. If I didn't care as much now as I did before I got blasted into fucking space, I definitely wouldn't be  _here_ , I'd have shoved the Collectors up The Illusive Man's ass and taken a fucking vacation."

"Interesting choice of words," he rumbles and her lips twitch in amusement. He knows her threat is in jest, but he still can't help sharing her frustration at yet another part of her past turning its back on her. It's not everyday someone you used to share cover with insults your dedication as they insult your morals.

"Fuck…I don't know." She sighs and her body seems to sink into the mats. "I guess I just wish that, considering we may not make it out of this mission, that maybe I could at least leave our former friends somewhat on my own terms. Does that make sense?"

He rumbles and shakes his head slightly. "Not really."

"Closure, Garrus. I want a bit of closure." She wipes some sweat from her brow. "The first time was so sudden that I guess I was thinking I could get a chance to say goodbye before we go after the Collectors, maybe give them a kick in the ass to stop ignoring what we all saw two years ago." She groans in frustration. "Shit… I don't know anymore."

"Seems like you're still trying to make sense of it," he says as he ducks his head to press against her forehead. "It doesn't have to happen overnight, you know."

She frowns angrily. "How much longer is it going to fucking take? I got shit to do - I can't just keep waking in the middle of the night or freezing whenever I hear a God damn hissing noise. If I could just stop fucking doing  _that_  then I wouldn't be down here throwing a fucking tantrum because someone doesn't like what I'm doing. I mean Jesus fucking Christ, I shouldn't have been so bothered by the shit Ash was spewing."

"Enough," he admonishes with a low growl. "What's done is done. Drop it, Jane, or we'll be right back to where we were when we started this." He nips at her nose, making her huff. "And I'd rather we spend that energy doing something else."

"Thinking with your dick… men." She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily as she looks up to the metal ceiling over his back. "I don't know, Garrus. I guess shit like that makes me wonder if I should be the one to go to Alchera and collect everyone's dog tags." Her eyes focus on him. "I mean, is that like walking on hallowed ground?"

"It will help," he offers with a low thrum of understanding. He knows her reluctance to return to her ship and crew's place of rest - he felt the burn of pain and prickling sensation of intruding when they put his team to rest, that feeling of not belonging simply because you managed to survive while others fell – and it will hurt, like salt in a wound, but she will survive like he did and be able to move on.

She, however, seems to disagree. "Fuck that… I'll just tell Hackett to send someone else. I'm not even Alliance anymore," she says with a scowl. "I'm not their fucking dog that jumps when they say, Cerberus has that honor now."

"Then why did you accept the job in the first place?" he asks as he tilts her head to look him in the eyes. "You can't tell me you don't want to go. Stop convincing yourself you don't need it."

"Don't spout that bullshit at me, Garrus," she spits as she lifts her head closer to his with a glare. "And don't act like I haven't noticed the  _one_  crate you didn't mail off on the Citadel. Eleven crates we pulled off Omega and only ten have gone to families. I'm damn sure that isn't Sidonis' footlocker – it's yours. Yet you haven't even  _looked_  at it, let alone opened it."

"Why should I? It's parts from a past I had made sure to forget. Pieces of my shattered life without you." He growls and lowers over her, pressing his weight onto her body. "Why in the hell would I want to go back to that? To remember it?"

"Because you're telling me to do the same?" She stops when he looks away, realizing she's right with frustration. Sighing, she lifts a hand and runs her fingers along the edge of his synthetic bandaging without the pressure that could cause pain. "Look, I hate to admit it, but I'm sort of afraid to go back there. Not to actually see the final piece that proves yes, I really was a dead as a fucking doorknob – I can handle that – but to see those who didn't get the chance to come back. It's just like Akuze all over again. Why me and not them? Only this time I  _was_  them but fucking Cerberus just wanted a fucking symbol to do their bidding." Her face tightens in rage at the thought. "Point is, I think we're both afraid of what digging up this shit is going to do to us. You will that damned chest and me with Alchera."

He doesn't need her to explain further, to put words to what they both see concerning their own individual – yet intertwined – situations. As much as finally letting reality catch up to seep into their present lives will hurt – like breaking an incorrectly healed bone to be reset – it needs to be done. She can't move forward and start to get over her death until she puts her former crew to rest in her own mind and he cannot mentally move away from the dark part of his own life without her until he lets his previous identity back in.

Sighing, he drops his head to hers and shifts his arms over her head in order to link his fingers in hers. "How about we make a deal." She lifts a brow and he lets his vocals rumble, trying to make her understand this won't be easy for either of them, but he's willing to do it if she is. "How about I promise to show you the contents of that crate if you promise to try and give Alchera a chance."

She smiles and presses back, rubbing her nose over his flat nose plates, the feeling still making him twitch after so long. "We do this together, Garrus. Go with me to Alchera and I'll be right by your side when you open that footlocker."

"I wouldn't expect it to be any other way," he agrees with a widened mandible. "Just give me a time and place, Jane." He smirks and rumbles in amusement. "I'll even deal with the cold for you."

"Aw, so self-sacrificing." She kisses him. "How can I ever repay my valiant hero?" She flutters her eyes.

He hums, making an effort to consider. "Dragging me out of the snow instead of leaving me to freeze to death would be a good start," he jokes, dodging her half-hearted smack. "Not that, huh? Then I have a plan." He drops his voice and lets a growling purr vibrate in his throat, smirking when her cheeks redden to his tone. "Seeing as how the Citadel is our next stop so you can set up this 'arrangement' you have with this Collector tech expert, I say you grant the crew a bit of a break." He licks along her jaw, chuckling when her thighs twitch around his waist. "I think they deserve at least a little shore leave after Horizon, don't you?"

She chuckles and lifts her chin for more. "No ulterior motive? Just you in a giving mood? Suspicious."

Garrus growls and nips at her offered neck, licking the pink mark of his plates on her skin. "I'm part of the crew, am I not? And you are too." He lifts his head and presses his lip plates to hers, opening his mouth to open hers so his tongue can slide in. She moans and strokes at him desperately as her hips grind to his, but he pulls away with a smirk. "Does this mean you'd rather we start a different kind of sparring? My, I don't think Massani or Grunt would be too happy to see the show."

She snorts below him. "Or they would. You don't know."

"I really don't care either way, but you, on the other hand, seem to be disinclined to have a repeat performance of the Conference Room. For whatever reason." She rolls her eyes. "So I'll preserve your delicate human sensibilities." He runs his teeth over her salty skin with a growl. "But be aware that I don't possess the will of steel my brethren have. I might just lose my sense of discretion if you push me."

He actually wishes she would, not really caring as she does if the crew sees them and actually quite content out here on the mats, but he'll leave the decision entirely up to her. If she wants to throw caution to the wind, as her kind would say, then she only has to give him the signal. If not, then he can always pin her to the cabin floor to make up for lost time.

"Commander Shepard, I must advise against any intimate activities in the Cargo Bay." He groans in frustration at the synthetic voice of the AI that almost sounds imploring. "Should there be cause for emergency, you and Officer Vakarian would be in danger of injury from any unsecured cargo."

"Don't worry, EDI," Jane says with a smirk, her fingers teasing along the edge of the numbed plates of his face playfully. "We'll just strap ourselves down. It has the added benefit of security as well as getting to try something kinky." She lowers her voice and Garrus growls as the heat in her eyes when she muses, "I've always wanted to see what bondage feels like."

"That was a joke, EDI," he offers the poor Intelligence with a chuckle at his wife always hassling the Cerberus computer. He runs a talon along her jaw, from one side, over her chin, and to the other.

Jane pouts, but her eyes shine in amusement. "You never let me have any fun."

"You always consider 'fun' as torturing someone," he says as he lifts slowly away. "And while entertaining, I always feel left out." He holds a hand to his chest in dejection and feels her swat lightly at him with a snort of amusement.

"Listen, you little shit" she tries to scold, but he can tell she's trying to hold back a grin. "It's because of you that I suddenly have millions of articles in my messages for 'chafing oils and treatment' or 'ridge enhancement therapy'. I have half a mind to spam you with them along with all the other crap Mordin thinks would be 'relevant' to our relationship."

He can't hold back the laugh at the thought of the Salarian's disillusioned ideas of their relationship and smiles when Jane joins him. "Can't imagine what nonsense he thinks is true… you sure you don't want to just show him and get it over with?"

She snorts as her only response and pushes herself to her feet. "Come on, you. I got a hot shower and a soft bed that's calling my and your names. Plus, we could have ourselves a little tiebreaker," she says with a teasing smirk, lowering her voice to mock him. "Test your reach and my flexibility."

"I sound nothing like that," he argues, his eyes narrowed, and she laughs as she takes his hand, leading him to the lift. That story may haunt him until his dying day – the horrible attempt at sounding smooth completely failing – but he can't really complain that she at least enjoys making fun of him for it.


	19. Chapter 19

-Jane-

Now that she's had a chance to catch her breath, to relax, for even just a handful of hours here on the Citadel, Jane feels much better than she has in a while. Sure, they are still staring the Omega-4 Relay down like it owes them money, and odds are that their bravado won't mean shit once they actually manage just how the hell to get the damn thing to work for them, but it's an issue for tomorrow Jane. Today, she's taking the position of the drinking-some-fancy-expresso-cocktail Jane, so let someone else keep the universe from falling apart for once.

 _Can't complain about the company, either,_  she muses with a smirk at the sight said companion sitting beside her at the fancy little Presidium coffee shop.

To say her husband looked out of place here, sitting as some tiny café table in full, battered heavy armor with half his face held together by hopes and lots of medical tape, would be a severe understatement, but it just seemed to be one of those new things from his life on Omega. Archangel was a paranoid bastard, it seemed, but Jane couldn't fault him for it, not after what happened the last time he seemed to become complacent, to let his guard down. They both would remember that day, she by the crippling fear of nearly losing him and he by the scars forever etched into his skin.

Yet, he did seem legitimately relaxed, if only for the short time they were on this self-appointed shore leave. The ever present weight on his shoulders seems somewhat lessened for the moment and just that thought has helped to keep quiet that voice in the back of her mind telling her this was a selfish idea while human colonists could be in danger. He was right to have suggested this time to themselves, if only for a few hours, and, logically, they were no use to their cause without some time to recoup their shaky sanity.

 _And that's why I find myself at a little coffee shop surrounded my smartly-dressed dignitaries in a pair of civvies and in the company of a battered Omega vigilante drinking a five hundred credit espresso, to relax._  Relaxing back into her seat with an amused snort, Jane sips her drink with a smile.

"You know," she says with a smirk, setting her cup down. "You could look a little less intimidating."

Garrus shrugs with a flick of his mandible. "What can I say, I look good in armor."

"Your armor looks like shit, Garrus," she corrects and taps the charred edge of said armor. "I thought I got you a better one. One that  _isn't_  shot to hell."

He lifts a brow and smirks. "But then I wouldn't be intimidating, now would I? I'd just look like some beat up Turian in heavy armor out on the Presidium."

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. "Right… much better this way." She takes another sip from her drink, waving a hand at his direction to get his attention when she suddenly remembers something. "Oh, oh… before I forget, I got you something to do with your free time on the ship."

"'Free time'?" He shakes his head, as if confused. "I have no translation for this term. Is it some fancy human thing?"

She frowns at his smirk. "Listen here, smart ass. I get you a present and you make fun? Your mother never teach you manners?"

He flicks a mandible to that. "So what is this supposed 'present'? And if I wasn't mistaken, I've been pretty occupied spending my free time with  _you_." He smirks and lays a hand on her thigh. "Or are we not doing that anymore?"

Grasping a finger between her index and thumb, she lifts his hand from her thigh and lets it drop to their table in mock disgust. "No, we are still doing that. And your present is a model ship I got here on the Citadel from a gift shop by Barla Von's office. Turian Cruiser, I think it was."

"You bought me a model ship," he repeats with a raised brow in confusion. "Since when have I ever given you the impression that I even know how to put one together?"

"Jesus Christ, quit looking too much into it, Garrus." Jane rubs her forehead in exasperation, trying to hold back her laughter as his completely befuddlement. "It was just a thought since you like working with your hands, modifying shit. Nothing more. Hell, if you don't want it, I'll probably end up putting it together myself."

"I never said that," he says with a chuckle.  _Infuriating, lovable bastard._  "But I have a better idea. How about we both put it together." He runs a talon around the rim of her cup with a low purr only she could hear because she sits so close. "Because I don't think I will be able to divide my already dwindling time off-duty between the task of putting together models for and pleasuring my mate."

She narrows her eyes at his smirk, not liking the back talk, and opens her mouth offer her own opinion on just how he can spend his off-shift hours when his eyes focus on something over her shoulder that causes his expression to sour and a low growl to pulse from his chest before he clamps it down. She has just enough time to lift a brow in question as she starts to turn before a voice she never expected calls out.

"Shepard?"

She cringes at the soft, but still masculine, voice and turns in her seat completely. "Hey, Kaidan. Long time, no see."  _Really hope this doesn't just turn into another Horizon. And on our day off, too._

The man hasn't changed one bit in the two years she's been gone, as if he too was dead and brought back as-is. If it wasn't for his change of clothes into something less like the ship-issued civvies of the first Normandy, she would swear the former Lieutenant could have fallen into some sort of Twilight Zone at the attack over Alchera and has just barely found his way out. It certainly would explain the look of utter confusion on his face.

"Is it really you?" he asks, almost breathless, as he takes the few steps to stand before the table. "I had heard of Ash's report, but I guess I didn't believe it." He smiles weakly. "Seeing is believing, right?"

Jane knows it's only because of the man's complete disbelief at seeing her that he doesn't hear her mate's low growl from her side, the sound  _very_  obvious even for a half-deaf Volus to hear. She doesn't which is worse, the odd look in the brown eyes that makes her question if he somehow forgot that conversation of her turning him down two years ago or the sudden tension in her husband for no damn reason, but she can't deal with it right now, not if she should be expecting an ass ripping like with Williams.

Laying a hand over Garrus' leg under the table to silently snap him out of it, she offers a smile back to their visitor from the past. "Yeah, Kaidan, it certainly was a shock for everyone." He motions to the empty chair left at their table and she opens her mouth to deny him when he takes it for acceptance, sitting down. "Yeah, sure… go right ahead," she says in frustration, hating not really have much choice.

"So," he starts, dropping his eyes in attempt to collect his thoughts. "Is everything in the Horizon report true?"

She rolls her eyes. "How the hell should  _I_  know? It's not like they gave me a copy to proof-read, Kaidan. You're going to have to be a lot more fucking descriptive."

Alenko frowns and raises his hands in an attempt to assure he means no harm. "Okay, I understand. I didn't mean anything by asking." He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Can we start over?" She nods with a slight shrug, ignoring Garrus' shift in his seat to cross his arms at his chest. "Did you actually die above Alchera?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Garrus spits. "Weren't you  _on_  the damn ship when it went down? Or were you too busy trying-"

"What Garrus is trying to say," Jane interrupts with a glare, "is that, yes, I did die. Or something similar. I don't know if I was really down for the count or in a coma or something, but I haven't been around for the past two years." She lifts a hand to stop any comment, needing to get this out before the venom starts flying. "And let's just get this out in the open right here and now. Yes, I'm working with Cerberus and yes, I remember  _all the evil things they did_ , but before you start calling me a fucking traitor like Ash, understand that I'm doing this for a damn good reason. I don't know what she put on that report about me, but you can be damned sure she didn't say enough about the shit the Alliance and Council refuse to act on. You hear about colonies going missing? They're being attacked by Collectors."

"Whoa, wait, Shepard. Are you even going to give me a chance to speak before you automatically start assuming what I'll say?" He shakes his head with a frustrated frown, messaging his head at what's probably the start of a headache. "Of course I'm going to be surprised to hear you're working with Cerberus and of course I'm going to support the Alliance. You said it yourself, you weren't here the past two years, so you don't know that the Alliance  _has_ been trying to protect people. We all know it's not that simple, Shepard."

"It is that fucking simple." Jane shifts forward and taps an angry finger on the glass top of the table. "People are abducted. Those people need help. The Alliance isn't doing fuck all to help and, yet, when I come to them with fucking proof, they shove it right back up my ass! They don't want to take care of things? Fine, back me the fuck up and I'll do it. But they won't do that, they threw everything I said about The Reapers before in the trash before my corpse was even cold." She points accusingly at him. "And don't you fucking _dare_  say they haven't."

"Look, some of us have tried to make people listen. We have," he offers, leaning against his elbows on the table. "But we aren't all like you. In fact, we all feel apart without you, but we've been trying to make due. Ash went into N-Training and I took a job at Grissom, to see if I could take at least something good from my experience at Jump Zero." He smiles. "I'm training students, Shepard. Teaching them they don't need to be afraid of their biotics."

"Whoop-die fucking do, Kaidan," she says, making his expression fall. "I'm happy for you, really, but what the hell are you expecting from me when you come here asking if 'everything from Horizon is true'? Either you legitimately care what I have to say for myself or you just want to rub salt in the wound that Williams opened up. Which is it?"

"I," he stammers, his brows drawn down. "I really did want to hear your side of the story. I know you wouldn't be doing the things everyone says you're doing without good reason, so I wanted to see if I could offer any help."

She sighs, dropping her hands to the table around her now-cold drink. "If you really wanted to know, wanted in in any way, then you would have asked how I know it's the Collectors, or what my evidence was. You are Alliance, but even you once questioned their tactics or their abilities to see the big picture. Maybe the fact that things haven't changed is what made you move to instructing, maybe not, but you stepped back because I was gone."

"That still doesn't mean I don't care about you working with Cerberus, about what could happen to you. We already lost you once, Shepard."

A fist slams to the table at that statement, rattling the cups and startling the male biotic. "Enough," comes the growl from Jane's mate. "I'm tired of hearing about Cerberus and I'm tired of hearing people offer sympathies one moment before they stab her in the back at the next. You're afraid of completely turning your back on her because you fear she could be right in the end yet you're too much of a coward to support her publically in case the lies about her being crazy are true." He shoves from his seat, towering over the table. "Get your story straight, Alenko. We don't have time for shifting alliances."

"Garrus," his head snaps to her, "get some air." His eyes narrow at the command, but a jerk of her head towards the exit gets him moving as he leaves with a low growl.

"Is…is he okay?" Brown eyes follow the massive bulk of armor and pissed Turian far enough to not be at risk of violently attacking the man, but still well within the range of his better hearing.

Rubbing a hand at her temple, Jane sighs. "The past two years haven't been easy on him." Kaidan has a question in his eyes, but she waves it off. "Doesn't matter… Look, point is that, despite how Garrus put it, I understand why you aren't openly supporting me and you aren't telling me to shove it. I get it, okay? Half of what I say sounds pretty fucking crazy and I also know you have a life now, a job caring for kids. That's good, you know?" She offers a smile, though it's half-assed at best. "I respect whatever keeps you from helping me and I don't use it against you for not wanting in on  _another_  suicide mission."

Knowing this is the best kind of terms they could leave on – meaning half of the questions in everyone's minds are answered while the others must wait until another day – she stands in efforts to make it obvious to Alenko that the conversation is over. Sure, they are probably on the slim precipice between reluctant friends and bitter enemies, but she'll take it as a win over how she left Horizon.

"Look, Kaidan," she says as he starts to stand, confused that she's all but dismissing him. "I'm not going to say this was the most pleasant of reunions, but it definitely wasn't the worst. Maybe if I make it out of this mission, I will sit with you and answer every single question you can come up with and, with luck, I can offer you something to help show you I'm not completely insane."

"Uh…yeah." He drops his eyes and rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I'd like that, Shepard. And," he looks up with a weak curve to his lips, "stay safe out there."

He offers a hand and she takes it with a grateful nod. "You too, Alenko." He leaves then, taking his awkward exit past the still furious Garrus, and Jane sighs as she pays the bill for her drink, wondering what the hell has gotten into her husband and just how she's going to snap him out of it.


	20. Chapter 20

-Jane-

As soon as Alenko is far in the distance, nothing more than a retreating speck of navy blue and silver, she turns on Garrus and tugs him into a public extranet booth. "Okay… just what the hell was that?!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He shakes his head and, crossing his arms over his armored chest, leans against the wall of the cramped space, as if they aren't practically in each's other's arms.

"Stubborn little…" She shakes her head and drops her head into her hand to take a breath. "That wasn't just some possessive bullshit, was it?" She lifts her head, her eyes narrowed, and studies him. "Did something happen between you two while I was gone?"

He growls, as if insulted. "You'd think I'd stoop so low to have it out with the former Lieutenant? You think I'd really be intimidated by  _that_?" He scoffs. "If I knew that was my competition then I guess I should be worried about any varren that gives you pleading – what did you call it? – 'puppy dog eyes'?"

"That what the fuck is your problem?" She jabs a finger in his face. "And don't you tell me it was what he said because I know you. You claim to be a bad fucking Turian, but if you kept your cool over Horizon, Kaidan definitely wouldn't get to you the way it did. There's more."

He opens his mouth, but hesitates before closing it. Crystal blue eyes search her features before he sighs and forces himself into a nonchalant pose. "No… you're right. I was just jealous." He shrugs and looks through the glass of the booth. "It was irrational and won't happen again."

"Right. That's  _so_  convincing." She rolls her eyes to hide her concern. She knows something is up, something really different from the obvious aggressive marking of territory it looked like. Taking the opportunity to look him over while his eyes are away from her, she examines the man that is her husband.

_Are his injuries bothering him? No, he took some pain killers before we left the ship this morning and he took some at lunch when I caught him wincing. That was only a few hours ago. Something is still off, though…_

"Holy fuck, Garrus," she says when she realizes it and he lifts a brow plate, looking to her. "When's the last time you shot up?"

His eyes widen and he stiffens, confirming her suspicions she'd had since waking up to him in the middle of the night the one time he confide in her. "I… you know?," he asks weakly, his posture dropping as he visibly shrinks before her.

She nods her head softly. "Of course I know." She looks him over and sees his visibly shaky hands, his slight tremor to his mandible. "I lived on the streets." She takes his hands in hers, surprised that, though he tenses, he doesn't fight her. "I know what withdrawal looks like, what it feels like. How long have you gone?"

She looks up in time to see his eyes avoid hers and his chest buzzing in a sad sound – shame, she can only assume. "I haven't taken anything since before coming to the Loft last night."

"Why the hell not?" She tightens her hold on his hands, hating the slight tremble in them after knowing them for being steadier than stone.

He scowls and growls lowly. "And what the hell should I have done? I've been with you all damn day. You want me to just say, 'Jane, give me a second while I ' _shoot up_ '?'" He jerks his hands from hers, balling them into fists. "What would you think of me having to cut away to feed by  _addiction_?!"

"I wouldn't fucking care!" she screams at him, getting into his space so that the hard metal of his chest plate pressing to her chest. "You think I'm such an idiot that I would want you like this?!" She motions to his state. "You want me to cuss at you, call you a fucking pathetic piece of shit because you have a fucking problem?!"

"It would make a hell of a lot more sense than you treating me like a fucking child!"

She can't help it, everything over the last few days filled with nothing but people spitting in her face over her decisions, over her inability to find the right things to say to make everyone happy gets to her and she lets a fist fly. It lands with a crack in the center of his nose plate, cutting off his constant growl and twisting it into an angry snarl. "How fucking dare you! You know nothing-"

He snarls again and moves fast as lightning, one moment holding his nose plates, the next with his hand around her throat as he slams her head to the thick metal of the booth wall. "Don't I?" he growls, a sliver of blue trickling down his nose plates from a crack in the bridge plate. "Do  _you_  know what it feels like to only find relief at the end of a damn needle? To have the insatiable need to scratch your talons so deep under your plates or into your hide because you'll do anything to stop the damn itch? The feeling of something crawling under your plates? To shake so bad you can't hold a damn thing? Or the irrational thoughts in your head? The screaming to just  _make it stop_?"

She spits the blood in her mouth from catching her tongue with her teeth against his blue chest plate. "And how the  _fuck_  would you know I don't if you didn't fucking _let me speak_?" She flares violet blue, but doesn't go past the treat because she knows his state isn't one she wants to fight him in – neither will win this. "I'm not dicking you around, Garrus. And I'm not trying to baby you. Am I fucking angry you're doped up? Hell yes. But I wasn't there, I don't know what led you to this. And I don't care. What I  _do_  give a God damn about is this!" She motions with her hand at his body. "That you'd be so stubborn, so proud, to put yourself in this state."

He growls, but releases her, letting her massage at the tenderness with a cringe. He doesn't speak, but doesn't turn from her, so she figures it's a good enough sign to continue. "Look, you're not alone in this. I  _do_  know how it feels." She swallows against her sore throat and sighs. "I know the feeling of needing another fix. Of the shame. The fire in your veins when you miss a dose." He actually looks to her, his eyes curious and searching. "I fell into the same trap as my mother. Small stuff until nothing would fix the itch but the shit that would put down a fucking rhino."

With a frown, he drops his head in shame and she steps closer, taking his hand to offer an olive branch and smiling lightly when he squeezes it. "I want to help you, Garrus. No one should go through this alone… I know how that feels." She cups his mandible with her free hand, the limb quivering uncontrollably in her right palm. "And when it's safe for both your health and the mission, we can kick this together. If you'll have me," she adds with an assuring smile.

Garrus drops his head to hers, the plate against her forehead clammy -  _didn't know Turians could feel that way without being able to sweat… must just be because he's colder_  - and swallows audibly. "I'd… like that." A hand lifts and tangles into her loosely tied hair, his fingers shaking slightly against her scalp.

She presses into his hand with a soft smile, her eyes locking to his, hating that slightly dazed look to them. "So… do you have some with you?"

He tenses and his eyes drop from hers for a moment. "Yeah." He reaches for a catch in his armor, but she nudges his hand away, surprising him. "You… you don't have to."

"I told you that I want to help you, Garrus." She offers him an honest smile of comfort. "And I'd be concerned about you hitting a vein like this."

"I've been in worse shape, Jane."

She isn't going to respond to that or ask just what the hell he's thinking putting himself through that and instead pulls out the small vial of drugs that she had vaguely seen back in the Loft. "If you don't want me to be here for it, then I'll leave."

He grabs her wrist and dips his head to her neck, an odd, weak sound vibrating in his vocals. "Don't…," he says, his voice low and the desperation in it makes her frown, her free hand coming up to stroke the back of his head.

She doesn't make him ask more from her, doesn't make him further admit what she knows he only sees as his weakness, and instead looks at the vial to try and determine how to use it. There seems to be a tube of indigo colored liquid within a larger one filled with clear fluid, but she doesn't see a needle. "Uh…" she ponders aloud as she releases him to examine it in both hands.

With a sigh, he takes the vial from her hands and cracks it in his fists before handing back, the fluids mixing into a lighter shade of lavender. "Pressure extends the needle." He taps the flatter end of the vial. "The stim injects through vacuum," he admits, deadpan as if reciting some morbid medical journal of street drugs.

Nodding in understanding, she looks to him and bites her lip in thought of how to do this. "Can you drop down a bit? I can't reach your neck and I don't know where your blood flow is just by memory and feel." She gasps when strong hands, their firm grip not yet hindered by his need, wrap themselves under her ass and lifts to set her atop the terminal controls. "That works," she jokes with a light chuckle, now at height with him as her feet swing a bit in the space around his legs.

Stepping closer between her knees, Garrus grabs her free hand and lays it against the hide of his neck, navigating her fingers over his rapid pulse. She takes the silent hint and separates her fingers to use as a guide for where to inject. He lifts his hand and looks to her in anticipation, his eyes searching her face with so many unspoken emotions. She leans to him as she lays the injector to his skin, pressing her lips to his forehead plate as she pushes down, hearing the sound of a hiss along with his bass grunt.

She pulls the spent vial from him, but continues to hold him close, nuzzling to his plates as he lets it flood his system again. His pants fan across her neck as he makes a strange gurgling rumble in his throat and she scratches under his fringe. "Do you need a second shot?"

"No," he says before swallowing and shakes his head. "It just needs to take a moment." She feels one of his hands lift from gripping the terminal beside her legs and tangle in her hair, tugging the band holding it up out and tossing it to the floor. He purrs brokenly and lifts his head to nuzzle in her hair behind her ear and she smiles.

"I think it's safe to assume it's starting to feel better?" She frowns slightly at the blue on his plates and lifts a hand to try and rub it off. "Sorry about the nose."

He grunts dismissively and runs the tips of gloved talons down her throat. "I should be the one apologizing."

She shrugs. "I could have blown you off me if I had wanted to." She licks her finger and rubs softly at the caked blood, revealing a small split in the bridge plate of his nose. "Chakwas is going to kill me for fucking up more of your face."

He chuckles and flicks a mandible. "And not me for skipping doses after she all but threatened me with violence over it?" He presses his forehead to hers. "I really am sorry for letting this get out of hand."

"It's fine… I understand." She lifts her hands and massages under his fringe, pulling him closer. "I know you weren't yourself."

He shakes his head with a frustrated growl. "But it was. You were right about Kaidan, about the way I reacted." He covers her hand with his not coursing through her hair. "I'm not intimidated about  _Kaidan Alenko_  being around my wife, and his remark wasn't even the worst. It was…" He sighs and pulls back a bit to look at her better. "It was Sidonis."

That throws her for a loop, not being something she'd expect. "Uh… what? You're going to need to help me out with that."

"I can't take everyone turning their backs on you. But worse than that is not taking a side, to have one hand in both so that, no matter what, he won't be put out." He growls and shakes his head. "At least with Ash and Tali, we know where their damn loyalties lie, even if it's not with us. Alenko? He has no loyalty to anything but himself and it's pathetic."

She realizes where he's going. "You mean just like that bastard, Sidonis?" He nods, his mandibles tight in anger. "You will find him, Garrus."

"And I'll make sure he never forgets Omega, what he did."

She lifts a brow. "You sure you can do that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" He narrows his eyes. "Are you going to stop me from doing what's right? My team deserve justice, Jane."

She shakes her head and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it. "And I'll help you hold the damn gun steady when you find him, but I don't want you doing like you did with Kaidan. You need your head clear when you go after him, not just cutting whoever gets in your way down just because it's quicker. Understand?"

He opens his mouth, most likely to protest, but closes it with a sigh. "No civilians, Jane. I can keep my head clear enough for that. And I thank you for not trying to talk me out of this. That bastard needs to pay."

She smirks and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his cowl. "Got to find him first, you know. Once you do that, have at him. Do whatever form of street justice you have planned. I'll cover you."

He growls lowly and cards his talons through her hair, cupping her head as he pulls her close. She smiles as her lips press to his, his tongue flicking over her lips in silent question. Opening her mouth, granting him his request, she gasps softly at his rough tongue circling her own, stroking the rough surface under the thinner skin beneath her own.

Lifting her legs up and over the juts of his armored hips, she pulls herself to the edge of the console to press against the cool metal. She moans at the shift of his own hips into hers, his low growl that vibrates within his metal casing, and lifts a hand to the back of his head to dig fingers under his fringe. He moans with a growl and leaves her mouth to press back into her fingers, seeking that pressure as his hand she didn't even notice around her hip slides to her front to press his knuckle at the seam of her crotch.

Jane moans and presses into his hand, the booth too small to do much else. He growls at her, obviously liking her willingness, and drops his head to her neck, licking from the top of her shirt collar and up her neck to swirl around her ear and leave her panting. Her hands aren't idle as she drops the empty vial on the floor of the booth forgotten and grips his waist through the gap in his armor, making him growl and undulate his hips, while continuing to swirl her fingers against his skull in time with his fingers against her core.

A hard nip at her pulse makes her jump with a gasp and she grabs his crest, jerking his head from her neck. He growls and presses his hips hard to hers, his eyes dark with lust. "What was that for?" he asks, but doesn't sound at all bothered by the forceful treatment.

"Back up so I can pull my pants off." She smirks and presses her lips to his to swallow his thrumming growl.

He takes the half step back that the booth allows and drops his own hands to his pelvic guard, the codpiece falling to the floor with a loud thud. She snorts at that as her hands work the button of her pants, her feet trying to kick off at least one boot. The second she accomplishes both, he is on her, tugging her pants to her ankles and off the one unbooted foot before stepping between her thighs.

"I still have panties on, you know," she says with a smirk, knowing full well what he's going to do.  _Impatient... as if I'd float away if he doesn't anchor me with dick._  He growls in response to her obviously needless warning and looks into her eyes as she hears the tear of the thin fabric. "You're buying new ones, you know."

"Or you can stop wearing them," he offers in that feral tone that he only ever gets right before he's about to jump her, more growling subvocals than actual speech.

She smirks, but doesn't remark on how inefficient it would be walking around without underwear or how chaffed she'd get walking around in the thick uniform material as she drops her hands to his undersuit, snapping open the front flap. His slick cock slides out into her hand and she moans in unison with him as his thrusts into her fist.

Pulling her hips closer as she guides him, they move in time with the other, never needing to look or speak as some unknowable force pulls them together into the most intimate connection. He slides into her with a low growl as she presses her lips to his hide, moaning at the ridges along his underside sliding through her folds and inner muscles. When he comes flush, he grinds his hips, obviously knowing she likes it best when he hits that far back wall of her, and she bites lightly into his hide to demand he start moving.

He pulls back, nearly pulling out, and slams in, pushing her hips to him with the grip on her ass with bruising force that knocks the breath from her lungs. He sets a brutal pace like that, one she can barely keep up with as she moves in his palms, but he doesn't seem to mind as he growls in her ear and licks roughly at her pulse.

He tugs her off the console to shift his angle, thrusts up into her, and she gasps as she wraps her legs over his hips, relying solely on his strength to hold her up. She can't move much past squeezing her legs to pull him close, but she makes up for it with her lips, tongue, and hands, as she massages his fringe and suckles the prongs of his mandible.

He moans and digs his fingers into her ass cheeks -  _thank God for gloves or I'd have holes in my ass_  - as his pelvis hits hard against her own, making the most obscene noises of their combined fluids. He licks a hot stripe up her throat before he takes it in his mouth, growling against her flesh and making her moan as the vibration tickles her own windpipe.

Her unbooted toes curl and she groans in pleasure, her muscles starting to tense and flex beyond her control as her back bows. She drops her hands to his shoulders to just hold on for the fall as she closes her eyes and pants, her breaths painfully short as they always are right before the final push she needs.

She moans breathlessly as he moans around her throat and pulls her tightly to his hips, grinding her with his hands in a way to make his tip pressed against that spot behind her move in a small, circular motion. It's all she needs to toss her head back, moaning out a scream as she clenches uncontrollably around his penis, urging him on with her, and he follows, his hips grinding into her, using her climax to milk himself.

She chuckles when he releases her neck, licking it once. "First the Conference Room, then this? You earned some class from Omega, my man."

He snorts and runs his hands through her red hair. "Right. Because our bedroom is just too-"

"Boring?" she offers with a smirk and he rolls his eyes, unable to give her that Turian equivalent with his mandibles while one is still immobile. "Not that I'm complaining. It's certainly a cleaner place than I would expect."

"Cleaner?" He lifts a brow plate.

"Yeah," she agrees as he places her back on the console. "The console isn't sticky… or, it  _wasn't_."

He laughs and bends to pick up his codpiece and her boot. "Guess you can thank the Keepers for that."

She cringes and she pulls her legs forward to grab her pants to pull them back on. "Poor things, cleaning up people's cummy messes. Surprised they don't all revolt."

He shakes his head and helps her slip on her boot, his three-fingered hands actually really good at tying her laces. "Maybe that's why they helped the Reapers before."

"Until the Protheans showed up and bashed them over the heads to make them forget – or told them that the Reapers said they were ugly and it made the Keepers sad." She snorts. "Or whatever the hell Vigil meant when he said the Keepers 'wouldn't respond' to Sovereign." She takes his offered hand and hops down from the console. "I'm going with something petty like stealing their boyfriend or calling them fat."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jane," he says with a smirk as he opens the booth as her Omni-Tool beeps with a message. "Working still?" he asks with slight disapproval.

She rolls her eyes and checks it, reading the short contents quickly. "Looks like the Shadow Broker comes through again." She offers the Tool, but he shakes his head with a shrug, willing to just hear her out. "Says it's a Margo Claude Knight," she reads aloud. "A freelancer who deals in Collector tech, selling it, modding it, that kind of thing. Might be just what we need."

He rumbles in agreement as they make their way to a transit terminal. "I assume we have some kind of buyer's meeting?"

"Yep. Nice use of detective skills," she jokes and he looks over to her, trying to look unamused and making her snort. "Easy, easy. No need to start with the glares. And the answer to your question is yes, the Shadow Broker pretty much set up a buyer / seller meeting and wiped his hands of the rest. It's all on us, now."

"Where is it?"

A cab sets down before them and pops open its doors, letting them climb in. She takes the chance to check her Tool again once she's seated and cringes at the destination. "Uh… Omega?"

"Omega," he deadpans, his fingers still over the controls. "We're meeting some person, who we don't even know, that the  _Shadow Broker_  told us about. And it's on Omega. Am I the only one that feels just a bit reluctant?"

"You're paranoid, Garrus," she jokes with a smirk. "Comes with being a vigilante against a whole station. We can always check it out before actually revealing ourselves." She shrugs. "You know, scope out the field before we move in? Go all 'Archangel' on everything?"

He lifts a brow. "Don't you remember? Archangel is dead."

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "You know what I mean."

He chuckles and nods, tapping the dock coordinates into the system. "Yeah. I think that's our only option on this. So I'll go 'all Archangel' before we meet with this freelancer because I do actually agree with you. We need to know more about what we're up against, their weapons' capabilities and defensive measures if we're going to stand a chance against them. We got lucky on Horizon, but now they know what we're after them."

She nods and takes his hand, loving that at least one person on the Normandy is together enough to agree with her – to put aside whatever petty shit they have against her or whatever she's doing to look at the facts. It may not be the best life to think so cynically, but at least she has a partner just as much a Debby Downer as she is, if not worse.


	21. Chapter 21

-Garrus-

"Shepard, wait!" Clicking heels echo through the CIC before the visage of Miranda Lawson rounds the corner of the airlock. She huffs in frustration and sets her hands to her hips, glaring at the Turian and human in full armor as if they were children in need of scolding. "Just why in the world are we on Omega?  _Again_? I don't know of any reason to be here."

"That's because I didn't tell you," Jane responds with an air of confusion, as if that should have been the most obvious answer. "Don't tell me that Cerberus would be all honky dory if I said, 'hey, I'm going behind your backs to get a crew member because I think you're all a bunch of idiots'. You know we could use someone on this ship that knows about the tech aspect of the Collectors."

"Would it have hurt for you to at least keep the rest of us informed?" The dark haired woman sighs and rubs a hand over her forehead. "Look, I understand what you're saying, but we can't work as a team if you won't trust me."

Garrus sees green eyes glance to him over her armored shoulder, questioning, and he gives her his full attention.  _Give her a chance, Jane,_  he silently intones through their locked gazes.  _She's trying, you have to as well._

Jane sighs and turns to Miranda who has no doubt seen the short exchange. "I may have found us someone who can give us an upper hand on the Collectors. If the Shadow Broker's connections are good, then this guy is the best."

"Shadow Broker?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "Shepard, Cerberus is very good at finding information. Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I didn't want The Illusive Man knowing I wanted someone on my team he didn't have a hand in providing." She smirks and crosses her arms. "Didn't want to hurt his feelings, really. Plus, you can't say that someone wouldn't turn tail if they heard the shadowy human organization was sniffing after them, can you?"

"No…I," Lawson says with a sigh and her firm stance relaxes in understanding. "I can't."

Jane frowns and drops her arms. "Look, if I had thought you wouldn't automatically go to The Illusive Man to tattle on me being bad, I would have told you. So how about we make a truce for now, I tell you what I'm up to and you don't rat me out to The Illusive Prick?" She nods with an assuring smile, forced but good enough for now as Jane snorts in amusement, smiling slightly at the add form of expression on Miranda's face. "Well, we'll work on that. Any questions? We have an appointment to keep."

"No, Shepard," the operative says. "Just be careful out there."

"Come on, now." She smirks as the airlock doors start to close. "How much trouble could little ole me get into?" she asks with innocence just as they seal.

Garrus chuckles with the sounds of the airlock seals. "You really do like getting under her skin, don't you?" She shrugs with a smirk and he shakes his head. "Any idea where we're meeting this guy?"

She hums and pulls up her Omni-Tool. "Looks like the lower section of Afterlife. Damn, guess I should have worn something more appropriate," she jokes as she makes a show of trying to brush off the breast plate of her armor. "This isn't even my clubbing armor."

"And what would you're 'clubbing armor' look like?" he asks with a raised brow plate as the last cycles of the decontamination cycle through.

"Probably a lot like what Miranda wears," she replies with a snort of amusement. "Got to show off the girls, you know? These babies," she cups her covered breasts, her gloves making a soft click against the metal, "got to get some air if I'm waving them in people's faces."

"You mean doing whatever it is you call dancing?" She laughs at their shared joke of how she's managed to fool everyone into thinking she dances worse than a Krogan just as the outer doors open, letting the still, dank air of Omega back in. "At least you don't have half of the Citadel's lights in your armor. You  _do_  know a sniper is better off not attracting undue attention, right?"

Jane's face flexes for a moment in distaste for the "Well, I have to be able to see you in the dark of the Main Battery. If you want, we can always go with a bright pink set, with pretty flowers and butterflies."

He flicks his mandible in amusement as they make their way through the crowds, the smells, sounds, and sights something he hasn't missed. "You act like that would affect my views on my own masculinity." She lifts a brow over her shoulder, her lips quirked. "You get me that armor and I'll show you what confidence is."

She snorts at that, but sobers up as they make their way down to the meeting place. Pulling him to the side, she lowers her voice as they both scan the lower bar of Afterlife. "Alright, how do you want to play this? You're better adept at the way this place runs."

Crystal blue eyes scan the area as his mind draws on his life as Archangel. He may be in a new set of armor, slate gray and burgundy with bright lights in efforts to try and look as different from the supposed mysterious and, more importantly, dead vigilante who was known to wear only blue and black. "You said this was a human, correct?" he asks, trying to decide the best way to cover her without tipping their hand in case this deal goes bad.

She nods and looks around the bar, her eyes focusing on individual human figures to most likely see if she can recognize their contact. "Yeah. Says it should be a guy in some fancy looking armor. Message says, 'you'll know it when you see him. _Look for the knight in shining armor_.' Whatever the hell-" She stops and lays a hand on his arm to get his attention, nodding to the far corner of the bar where a single figure in odd shaped armor relaxes against the bar, accepting a bottle of some drink from the Asari dancer. "I'll be damned… they weren't kidding."

He lifts a brow and glances to his wife. "Mind filling the Turian in? I thought this guy was named  _Mc_ Knight, not Knight."

She smirks, her eyes sparkling in the way that means she's biting back laughter to remain professional. "It's a play on his name. Knights were a type of warrior in a very old human culture. They were suits of metal armor," she turns to him with a chuckle, "suits that look  _exactly_  like that." She shakes her head with a soft smile. "I think I may already like this guy. Got a sense of humor."

He grunts in acknowledgement, not really paying much attention but not wanting her to think he's ignoring her as he looks for possible back up for the freelancer. He can't tell for certain, but he may see at least three humans among the nearby crowd pretending to blend in, their eyes occasionally drifting from their actions to scope out the bar. While not uncommon for someone on Omega doing any business to have back-up in case of emergencies, it might not be best for the two of them to go straight into the field of sight while they still don't know if this is a set-up.

"You listening?"

He glances to her, seeing her raised brow and knowing smirk. "Yeah. It looks like he has three bodyguards, but they don't seem on edge."

"So we're talking 'what if' scenario?" She looks to each one, letting him know she saw them too, and he flicks his mandible at her knack for always pretending to be oblivious while internally calculating her targets' weaknesses and faults. "What do you say to putting back on the cloak?" She steps closer and lowers her voice so only they can hear. "Donning the black and blue again?"

"The what?" He tilts his head slightly in confusion, wondering just what the hell she took before they left the Normandy, and she snorts.

"Oh, come on." She walks her fingers over the raised cowl of his heavy armor with an innocent smile, their proximity here in the shadows making their voices nothing more than breathy whispers. "I need my guardian  _archangel_  looking over me."

The uncomfortable situation in his armor from her flirty tone and close proximity seriously has him questioning their need for this freelancer, but he is professional enough to realize the importance of what this could do to their position over the Collectors. He growls lowly and grabs her hand, stroking a thumb over her fingers. "Keep that up and I'll be doing a lot more than looking over you."

He releases her and she smirks with a roll of her eyes. "Omega really turned you into an exhibitionist."

"No, more like an opportunist." He pulls away, back to the task at hand, and motions with his chin to the level above their meeting point. "I'll take position up there. If things go wrong, I can already take out two of the guards before they have a chance to pull their weapons."

"You always think of situations where everything goes FUBAR?" she asks with a smirk and he shrugs. "Alright, turn on your comm and alert me to anything that looks suspicious. And warn me if I'm getting swindled," she jokes as she pats him on the shoulder when he turns to take the stairs to the higher ground.

He can hear when she switches on her comm in the way the room seems to take on an echo, voices gaining a dual quality where there once wasn't one or quadrupling over the speech of his own people. He sees her armored form push through the writhing masses of bodies towards their contact as he finds his perfect perch, overlooking the one called 'McKnight' as well as his supposed bodyguards.

"McKnight, I presume?" Jane crosses her arms over her chest and the human, young by the looks of it, lifts his head from his glass with a bright smile.

"Captain Shepard!" He stands and overs a hand, Jane's expression of confusion making Garrus rumble in amusement. The man certainly seemed less shady than most, but, then again, Garrus learned the hard way that it was always the people you least expected that turned on you.

"It's 'Commander', actually." She takes his offered hand after a moment, giving it a firm shake before letting go. She takes the offered seat as they move to sit.

"Right… I hear you've been looking to buy some Collector technology?" His face, what little of it Garrus can see from his position, flits over that correction as if not even hearing her. For all Garrus knows, he might not have. "What can I interest you in?"

She leans her forearms on the bar, linking her fingers in nonchalance. "Actually, I'm here to offer you a job I don't think you'd want to pass up. What do you say to the opportunity to go after the Collectors? No more second hand tech?"

"Uh…" The freelancer rubs a hand over his head, making Garrus wonder why a male would have hair to his shoulders.  _I thought it was a female thing. Is my translator gender protocol glitching again?_  "Look, I'm not really a solider. I know how to fight, yeah, but I definitely don't go looking for it."

Jane nods in understanding. "Then don't be on my ground team if that's the issue." She turns to him. "While I'm willing to pay you for the work, I don't want someone who isn't confident of their capabilities at my or my squad's back. Human colonies are going missing, entire populations disappearing, and we have damn good proof that it's the Collectors."

"I… I had learned of that." He drops his head. "I had traveled to some after getting some orders for weapon's modifications. It was strange to have so many new customers with Collector weapons, but most were damaged beyond repair anyways. I got curious and followed the trail to some colonies that had supposedly been attacked mysteriously." He pauses and looks to Jane. "And you're really going after them?"

"That's my intention, but I don't want to go in blind. I need someone who can give me a God damn idea of what hurts these bastards. Of how to combat their weaponry." She motions to the bar around them. "Forget this place. It's small time. Help me and you can get your hands on whatever tech you can carry and then some."

The man chuckles and runs a finger around the rim of his glass, contemplating. "While I don't think I'm a soldier, I want to help you." He smiles. "I can hold a gun and I can shoot it, so I want the same treatment as everyone else. Won't hurt to earn my way, right?"

She laughs softly and nods, offering her hand. "I take it you're willing to take the job?"

"With pleasure, Captain," he says with a smile and takes her hand.

"It's… you know what? Never mind." She shakes her head in exasperation, most likely going to save the correction for the ship. "Good to have you aboard, McKnight. Now finish your damn drink and report to the Normandy," she orders with a smirk.

"Aye, aye, ma'am." He laughs and takes the last of his drink in a single swallow before lifting from his seat.

"One more thing." Her voice stops the man and he turns back to her. "Your buddies aren't invited." Her head bobs to point them out.

"Huh?" He follows her direction. "Oh, them? Yeah, the Shadow Broker sometimes sends people to watch my deals in case anything happens." He shrugs as if it's no big deal. "I don't mind it much and they don't cause problems."

"He do that all the time?"

He makes a weird noise and holds his hand in the air, tottering it side to side. "Kinda let him do his thing, you know? I get business, he gets to protect his scary information broker image. Win-win, right?"

Garrus doesn't bother to watch the two trade info and terms of his payment – which Jane is proud to say comes entirely out of Cerberus' pockets – as he scans the room for any suspicious movement, his paranoia of this place well-founded after so long living alone in the shadows. He sees a hooded figure in the crowds, moving slowly towards the bar, but not trying all that hard to remain hidden and out of sight.

 _Either this person is an idiot and doesn't know how to move in a crowd, or they want to be seen,_  he thinks as he lets his visor scan the individual. The figure waits at the bar, hooded head turning every so often to check if their new freelancer has left yet, and taps their fingers calmly on the bar top. His visor beeps in recognition, acknowledging the figure as someone Garrus has come into contact with before, and he flicks a mandible in exasperated disbelief at the identification.

Seeing McKnight, their newest member if his mate's pleased expression is anything to go off of, finally leaving to most likely head to the ship or to collect whatever things he has to take, Garrus radios. "Jane, on your nine is a very familiar face… or, you'll get the idea."

"Helpful," she deadpans as she subtly looks over her shoulder to his direction. "Illden? Or Kal? Or whatever the hell your name is?" She grins and stands tall. "Damn, it's been a long time."

"Shepard. I had hoped it was really you when I heard the rumors." He takes a seat and she climbs onto a stool with a smirk. "You'll forgive me for not trying to make contact sooner."

She nods in understanding. "I get it. Cerberus can throw anyone off. How did you know it really  _was_  me?"

"Tali had told me she saw you on Freedom's Progress. She said you helped her and her people." Jane nods in agreement to that, looking over the crowds to Garrus' position. Her eyes lock with his and she makes a soft motion to come down as their old Drell acquaintance continues. "After that and seeing what you've been doing, trying to investigate these disappearances, I knew it was you."

Garrus hears her half-hearted chuckle over the comm as he makes his way down from the higher level. "Wish it was that easy to convince everyone." A pause. "So… I guess you're not here to suddenly offer your services to my cause, huh?" Another pause wherein she sighs. "Yeah, I figured."

"I apologize, Commander, but I find ship life too solitary for my tastes. I feel an unbearable itch under my plates when I'm in a place for too long."

Jane snorts. "Can't imagine that went well with your relationship with Tali?" Her voice sounds like she's leaving the unspoken question open.

A soft chuckle comes over the line. "We made it work. I am actually her about our Quarian friend, actually." A pause which Garrus can only assume is Jane giving the okay to continue. "She had gone on a mission a while ago. Exploratory, I'm led to assume from her transmissions. While not able to discuss her mission, she was always able to transmit enough data to ensure me that she was alright. I am considered that her lack of responses to any of my coded hails may mean something has happened."

"You sure she didn't just reach a black-out or something? Maybe she forgot to hit reply?" Garrus flicks a mandible at her attempt to try and lighten the situation though her tone actually speaks of concern. "Is there any logical reason she could go silent?"

He finally makes it through the crowd without causing any undue attention by making it obvious he isn't just moving like a patron through to the dance floor or the bar. If there was one thing he learned about being a two meter tall Turian that had a reason to hide, it was that it was easier to hide in plain sight when you became as unassuming as possible. Seeing Jane speaking with Illden at the far end still, Garrus takes a stool before the bartender and watches from his peripheral.

"So you want us to check this out  _and_  you think she might be up to helping us?" Jane asks with a smile on her face, a try sign of happiness he hasn't seen in a while during these past missions. If Tali can be a second form of happiness for Jane here, then Garrus would be willing to go on whatever run around the galaxy this Drell can think up to find her.

Illden nods. "I was hoping to join you in looking for her. I hope you can understand." He tilts his head in a slight bow.

"Want to help us find your boo, huh?" She snorts and nods. "Don't worry. I'll make sure we head out to this Haestrom first thing after fueling and stocking on supplies. You're welcome to come along, see if we can't change your mind about staying." She raises a brow with a smirk and chuckles when the hooded figure shrugs slightly.

"Thank you, Shepard." He bows his head again, this time with great sincerity. "I cannot say how important this is to make sure she is okay." He stands in a single motion from his seat. "I shall make my way to the new Normandy."

"Yeah, make sure to get the first class tour," she calls out after his back with a smirk. With a shake of her head, she too stands from her seat in the far corner of the bar and makes her way to Garrus. She sits beside him with a smirk as she subtly shuts off her comm link before motioning the bartender to give her a drink. "Whatever you got that's strong and can knock me on my ass," she jokes as she tosses a chit on the table.

Garrus hears the 'sure thing' come from the Batarian bartender and flicks a mandible at the tone he doesn't quite like. He's been on Omega far too long to have not developed an ear or eye for something out of the ordinary and he definitely doesn't like the downcast face that hides the man's expressions. He starts to think back to anything that may have caught Archangel's attention around this bar, wondering if there could be anything that might connect to the strange feeling he's getting around this bartender.

When the man sets the shot glass on the counter, sliding it over, Garrus lays his hand over it in silent warning to his wife. She lifts a brow and looks to him, intrigued, and the Batarian scoffs. "You tell her when she can piss too?" He turns to Jane and motions with a thumb. "You going to let this Turian tell you what you can and cannot drink?"

"Think of this as your tip," Garrus responds, sliding the drink towards the man. "I hear the best way to tip your server on Omega is to buy him drinks." He narrows his eyes in challenge, his vocals rumbling.

"Uh," his multiple eyes blink before he drops them to the drink and, with a shrug, reaches for it. "I guess, since it's mine, I can do with it what I want, right?"

Garrus smirks at the bluff and moves like lightning, grabbing the Batarian's wrist around the glass as the man moves to pull and tip it into his spill tray, disposing of it without having to drink it. It's all the evidence the Turian needs to understand the situation as he twists the man's wrist around and pulls, jerking the Batarian forward over the bar to wrap his other hand around the back of his neck. Garrus slams the sweaty form in his palm against the bar top, causing the glasses in a, at least, three meter radius to rattle with the impact force.

"Fuck," the bartender groans as Jane leans over to see better, her mouth open in curiosity. He squirms a bit at the awkward angle and Garrus growls threateningly as he releases the now-broken wrist and grabs the glass of swirling yellowish green liquid. The moment he does, the four eyes widen in shock and the man that smells vaguely of dank mildew to Garrus' nose starts to panic, trying to squirm out of his hold.

Garrus growls and digs his gloved talons into the man's neck as he holds his head still, raising the shot glass to his lips. "Open your mouth or I'll make you open it," he warns with a low timber to his primary vocals, his harmonics a thick growl.

"No…please."

He doesn't pay attention to the whimpers as he shifts his pinning hand to the man's skull, laying the tip of his forefinger threatening close to the man's topmost eye. "Last chance. Drink the poison you're pushing or lose an eye at a time."

The threat of ruining whatever chance at an afterlife the Batarians supposedly believe is connected to their eyes makes the man swallow thickly, but he seals his lips in fear, leaving Garrus with no choice. He sighs, as if this isn't how he wanted this to play out even though he secretly loves this form of street justice, and drops his thumb to the man's lips, prying them open.

Tilting the man uncomfortably against his natural shape of his back so there is a way to pour the liquid in, Garrus easily holds the weight of his fighting down as Jane moves to block any passersby from seeing. Her face is contemplating, obviously not knowing the whole story – and she wouldn't because she wasn't here for the time he was, heard the stories of unfortunate souls being murdered by poisoned drinks – but she doesn't stop him as he pours the shot of liquid in the struggling man's mouth. Clamping the Batarians mouth shut with a low growl of satisfaction, he listens to the gurgling sputter and watches the jerking turn into spasms and the four eyes simultaneously roll back. He waits out the last uncontrolled jerk, the last rasp of dying breath, before he releases the man and pushes him over the counter.

"Jesus Fuck, Garrus," his wife says, glancing over the edge of the bar. "I'm going to need some info on whatever the hell that just was."

"He was killing humans. Poisoning them for some personal vendetta against humanity." He turns to her and motions for them to leave, best to be gone by the time someone notices the bartender is dead. "I had heard about it, but never had the chance to do anything about it," he says as they start to traverse through the thick crowds.

"So, this was Archangel settling a score?" she asks lowly. "Wouldn't think Aria would appreciate her bartenders being taken out."

He flicks a mandible in a smirk. "He shouldn't have been drinking on the job."


	22. Chapter 22

-Garrus-

Haestrom was a miserable planet, and that was saying something if even Garrus didn't like it. The heat and glare from the sun, he could take – he was Turian, after all – and he'd certainly felt worse when they were on Therum, but it was the  _way_  the sun had left this dying planet.

He couldn't describe it, and he knew the others couldn't recognize it as he could, but the place smelt  _wrong_. The slight off smell of the radiation in the air that had his instincts from a long ago time screaming 'get the hell off this planet and into cover'. He didn't need the constant fizzle and pop of his shielding to cement what his body was already saying, but he had a job here, they all did.

To find and help their old friend, Tali, who also happened to find herself in the middle of a Geth controlled territory right when the synthetics suddenly became aware of her and her team's presence. They were after some data, according to the logs left with the dead Quarians they've been coming across, but neither the recordings nor the Drell seemed to know what it was for or why they would did to protect it.

A blur of violet shoots through his scope and he sighs in exasperation as a Geth trooper goes flying off a platform to the sounds of pants in his visor's speaker.  _Her shields are shot and she's still frying her barriers by charging across the field… at least she's wearing a damn helmet against the sun._

He sees Jane focusing her biotics for an attack on the last Geth, her body starting to glow a faint blue of building energy, and he flicks a mandible with an idea. Lining his scope up with the Geth, he counts the milliseconds he knows she needs to prep herself for the charge before he pulls the trigger, rumbling in amusement at her surprise when she nearly stumbles over an already defunct Geth.

"Alright, smart ass," she says with a turn of her helmeted head to his perch and he can practically feel the unamused glare that comes with her hands planting on her hips. "I have a feeling you got something to say."

He chuckles and climbs over the wall of his perch, hopping down from his higher platform to her level. "Whatever could give you that idea?" He flicks a mandible as he approaches her, seeing her exaggerated head roll to show him she's unconvinced.

"That pile of horse shit is still so steaming hot I could have sworn it was this shithole's sun, Garrus." He lifts a brow and jerks his head at that imagery, making her snort over the comm channel. "It doesn't matter." She waves it off with a hand. "Point is that I don't believe you just happened to take that Geth out right as I was fixing to blast it into oblivion. You're more observant on the field than that."

He smirks and nods. "That was quite the coincidence, huh?" He shrugs. "I guess I'm getting sloppy." He chuckles at her barely audible groan at his passive aggressiveness and steps closer to her, nudging her helmet with his head. "You want to know the reason?" he asks after muting his visor's microphone and she nods. "Your barriers are all you have right now and I don't want you constantly draining them to charge. Maybe do it somewhere where we aren't frying in the sun?"

He hears her frustrated sigh as she rubs a hand to her helmet, a habit of running a hand through her hair that apparently carries over to her fully armored form. "Okay, fine. No charging while we're here." She drops her head and her helmet tilts up to look at him. "But that just means I can charge  _extra_  wherever we go next."

He snorts and nods. "Fine. I'll be sure to pack extra calorie bars in my armor for you." He flips on his comm again. "Now, how are Ilden and McKnight doing on those demolition charges?" he asks with enough emphasis to make sure the question is open for anyone to answer.

A slight buzz of static has the two looking to the far distance where they their squadmates had moved forward to blow the fallen pillars while they covered their backs. "All set, Captain," the freelancing Collector expert says after a moment of dead air. "Ready to blow this pile of rubble sky high."

"Again,  _Commander_ " Jane responds with a shake of her head as she starts to head that way. "Go ahead and set them off, Princess."

"Aw…really?" he whines as they hear footsteps over the comm, most likely the two taking cover from the incoming explosion.

Garrus looks to his wife when she snorts and laughs lightly. "You're name is _Margo_ , buddy. That's a girl's name and there are no girl knights." She pauses as they make it to cover and drop down just before the charges go off, blowing their obstacle apart.

"But  _Princess_?" A silver body pops out from cover, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "Come on. I should get a cooler nickname than that." He starts to count off on his fingers as Jane chuckles, making her way to him to regroup. "There's Subject Zero, The Illusive Man, Archangel…"

She pats a hand on McKnight's shoulder with a chuckle. "The name that big of a problem?"

"Well, no." He taps his fingers against his chest plate, thinking. "It's just that it's kind of my thing, you know? I don't know a good enough slogan to get everyone to remember calling me 'Princess'. And I'd have to rethink my armor…"

Both Jane and Garrus laugh at the complete sound of dejection in his voice at the possibility. "Alright, alright. You can keep your 'Knight' gimmick." She shakes her head and turns to the hooded Drell. "Have you been able to get Tali, yet?"

"Not yet," the masked figure says with a slight shake to his head. "There is more interference than I could have imagined."

"Yeah… what with all the magnetic-electro-what's-a-ma-whose-its." Garrus snorts quietly at her explanation as she motions them to move forward. "Move up, people," she orders as her head scans the new room they've found, scattered with beaten and battered Quarian and Geth alike. "See if we can't get some communication to wherever the hell Tali is held up in. Or at least some intel on what we're facing next." She stops short and tilts her head at the red lock on the only other door before turning back. "And someone figure out how to open that damn door… or give me some more explosives."

Garrus looks to the others and shakes his head. "Let's not. Remember the last time you blew something up?" He chuckles and crosses his arms. "You destroyed an entirely uncatalogued Prothean ruin."

"What?!" A sliver helmet snaps to her, but before anything further can be said, a familiar voice echoes through the room.

"Tali'Zorah to base camp. Come in base camp." Ilden rushes to the terminal and Jane jerks a thumb after him, and if Garrus knows her after so long – which he definitely does – her eyes are creased in amusement and silently saying 'get a load of this guy'. She snaps to attention when she hears the young woman ask. "Is anyone there? Hello?"

"Tali?" The Drell's usually calm voice is slightly edgy in concern. "Are you hurt? Are you alright?"

"Kal?" Jane nudges the hooded figure over with a nod of her helmet, a stern reminder to remember where they are, what they are here for.  _Mission first, emotions later._  "Is that you?"

"Tali," Jane cuts in with a firm tone, her hands moving to the console at the sound of gunfire beyond their blocked door. "Tali, this is Shepard. Time is short. I know this isn't the best way to say this, but your soldiers are dying and we can't waste what little time they have left."

"Shepard?" The image distorts, leaving a blur of orange hologram. "What in Keelah's name are you doing here?"

Jane looks up to the assassin and he nods, giving her the 'go ahead'. "Ilden – or Kal," she waves her hand in confusion, "whatever his name is. Turns out the big softy was worried about you, and for good reason." She chuckles. "I guess I'm a little late on the safe sex talk, huh? What do you say? Two years?"

Tali shakes her head and her image presses a hand to her helmet. "I forgot how horrible you are, Shepard." She drops her hand and looks through the space of their transmissions, her static distorted eyes twitching in what looks like happiness. "It's still good to hear your voice. Thank you for coming."

Jane's helmet bobs. "Anytime, so long as it's not when my soaps are on." She motions to the locked and sealed door. "I assume you're through this way?" Tali nods. "Anything you can do to let us through?"

"Making me do all the hacking again, Shepard?" the Quarian girl jokes with mirth in her voice Garrus hasn't heard from her in a long time. "Here…it should be opening in a moment." A click and whirr of activating door locks sounds to confirm her, as if they ever needed to doubt. "Be careful, Shepard. And please, do what you can to keep Reegar alive. I owe him my life on this planet."

Jane nods just as the connection is cut, sighing as she drops her head. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts before she looks to the hooded figure in an equally contemplating position. "So, you and Tali?" He looks to her, tilting his head in silent question, and she snorts. "And this Reegar?"

"He is a handful of years older than her. Not so much as to be the age of her parents or their peers, but old enough that I would consider their relationship closer to siblings." He crosses his hands behind his back. "Why do you ask?"

She hums and rolls her head, giving Garrus the impression that she's thinking up ways to remember this to bug Tali with. "You sure? There's  _nothing_  else going on?"

"I don't understand how this is relevant-"

She snorts and shakes her head. "Okay, okay. Calm your tits. I was just pulling your leg. Come on." She waves them to follow as she unhooks her pistol from her hip, activating her incinerating ammo, as they enter a small room with closed shutters. "At least something's not locked for once," she says as she taps the command to open them.

The ancient shutters shift and lift with a grinding stutter and scrap of metal and gears worn over centuries of disuse, but the screeching goes unnoticed as they all see what has been causing the Quarian marines so much trouble. Garrus rumbles in short surprise as his mate jerks her hands in disbelief as the unfolding Colossus, a sight they never thought they'd see again after Saren – _as if their luck was that good_.

"Oh, wow," McKnight huffs in stunned shock. "That's…"

"Unfortunate," Ilden provides just as the massive straightens, preparing to fire.

"Fuck!" Jane pushes the Drell to the ground as Garrus grabs the freelancer and yanks him behind a section on wall just as the huge projectile slams against their cover, showering little rocks and dirt over them. "Je-sus Christ. Why is it always Geth with her?"

He chuckles and dumps some of the rubble from his cowl. "It just wouldn't be like old times without giant Geth shooting plasma cannons at us."

"Smart ass." She lets him pull her to her feet before she motions to take formation and fall out, opening the door that will take them forward. This Geth fight will definitely be one for the annals if they manage to survive.  _Taking out a Colossus on foot on a planet with a radioactive sun. Who wouldn't like that challenge?_

He's pretty sure his feelings are shared with his wife, even if she says otherwise. Her flaring biotics when she's in cover always gives away her excitement for battle and he can't help the assuring smirk and nod when her helmet turns to him once they form their battle plan after speaking with the last remaining Quarian. 'The Colossus won't know what hit it,' that helmet-masked look says.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

When the giant Geth finally goes down with a synthesized wail Garrus still remembers after two years, Jane's audible exhale of exhaustion is heard –and echoed by the others- over the comm. "And that's how you do it! The bastard didn't know how to take the staggered approach." She looks to him and his gives an assuring nod, the hit he took hit his armor without cutting through. "Reegar? How you doing?"

A grunt of discomfort echoes from the man before he answers, his voice stern with obvious pain from his injuries he sustained before they could move in. "I'll be fine, ma'am. You should go check on Tali." He breathes deeply. "I just need a moment to catch my breath."

"Understood. Knight, Garrus, Ilden…" She looks around. "Where's the Drell?"

"Uh…" McKnight shrugs. "I think he already went in to talk to your Quarian friend? I wasn't really paying much attention after watching that huge explosion from that big Colossus thing." He shakes his head with a slight chuckle. "That was awesome."

She snorts. "Well, feel free to poke around out here in those crates for anything you might want. Garrus and I are going to check on our old friend and you're free to do as you please until we call in the shuttle." She waves Garrus to follow and he gives one last look at the freelancer poking at the remains of the Geth they fought, apparently investigation the damage his own Collector tech had done, before he lets her lead towards the observatory where Tali set up to make her last stand.

The doors open and Jane stops in her steps, nearly making him bump into her back. He grunts in surprised confusion before following her tilted helmet's direction and smirking at the two figures with their hands clasped together.  _Well, the suspicions of Tali and the Drell are no longer unfounded, it seems._

"Well, well, well." Jane sashays over to them and props her fists to her hips just steps away, making Tali jerk her hands from their friend's as it burned. "You could have at least waited until I confirmed the cost was clear."

"Shepard," hooded eyes narrow behind opaque glass as the young woman crosses her arms in a pout. "We were just…" She looks to Ilden for help. Jane snorts and laughs, making the girl huff in exasperation before she gasps in realization of who else is present. "Garrus?!" She gasps and her hands shoot up to her mask's filter. "Keelah… what happened?"

He has a moment of confusion, his eyes blinking blankly, before he remembers with a low rumble of understanding. He chuckles with a flick of his good mandible and shrugs dismissively. "Turns out you can't stop rockets with your face. Who knew?"

He sees her eyes move in a frown, but he raises his hand to hold off any condolences or sympathy. He honestly doesn't think he needs it and he actually doesn't want it. He made his choices that led to mistake and he accepts it, doesn't wish he could change anything he had done because not to would be that he has learned nothing, can never grow to make sure it doesn't happen again.

It also doesn't hurt that he's positive Jane may be the only one that actually sees the scars as he does, as physical marks of the good and bad of his Archangel life. That, or she's just half Krogan as he suspects.

"Does…" She stops herself, shaking her hooded head to clear out that road of questioning. Instead, she looks between him and Jane. "I'm happy that you and Shepard found each other, Garrus." She smiles behind her mask at Jane, her eyes narrowing into curved crescents, before she sighs and sobers up quickly. "I should have joined you back on Freedom's Progress when you offered, Shepard. If it wasn't for you coming here, I would have never made it out of this dark little room. Thank you." Ilden lays a soothing hand on her shoulder as she crosses her arms, rubbing herself as if cold.

"Did you at least get what you were sent here for before everything went to shit?" Jane motions to the large and old communications equipment and Tali nods softly. "Then I guess it wasn't a completely fucked up mission." She sighs. "I know this didn't end close to the best case scenario, but I'm happy I could at least help you save one of your men." She motions to the door where Reegar is most likely still recuperating. "And for whatever it's worth, I'd love to have you on the Normandy again. Just like old times, as Garrus would say."

Tali's head lifts and she nods softly. "I promised myself and the Fleet to see this mission through and I did. I can send the data, I don't have to deliver it in person to the Admiralty Board." She shakes her head and looks to Jane, her eyes narrowed. "If they don't like that I'm joining you, they can go to hell. I lost my team, my friends, for them and this mission. This is for me."


	23. Chapter 23

-Jane-

When she wakes, it's to the soft bubbling of her fish tank and an empty, but still faintly warm, opposite side of the bed. She doesn't need to really look to know her husband is gone and she's not all that surprised to see him off somewhere. Most likely trying to get some work on the ship's cannons before she drags him off to some mission.

"You and your damn insomnia," she says to the room, running a hand through her tangled hair and rubbing at her scalp with a yawn. "Can't a girl use you to blow off her duties?"

She smacks her lips and looks around, trying to let her eyes become accustomed to the low light in the Loft. A clear divide exists between what is 'his' and 'hers' in terms of workspaces, with hers being strewn with countless datapads and just useless junk and his neatly organized and tidy, but what really makes her laugh is the places where their two personalities come together.

Like the low coffee table, for example, where they often relax and put the multitude of models she can't seem to say no to buying. Its surface is a mash-up of attempted organization of the mess she calls structure, a middle ground of compromise between their two completely opposite ways of functioning, and, surprisingly, it works. Just like their marriage of different species and cultures, not to mention two different individualities, their hybridization of organization actually works.

 _Hybridization of organization?_  She snorts at that and tosses the blankets off her feet, swinging them to the ground to get up and on her way to figuring out just where the hell he's run off to. If she's going to function today, she needs some caffeine and fast, else she's going to keep inventing words and phrases, massacring the human language. _Don't get me wrong… I have no problem doing just that, but this is different._

She stretches her back, her arms in the air, and grunts in surprise at something new sitting on her side table. "Hello… what's this?" she asks with a smirk as she walks to the glass and picks it up, sniffing the cold substance as she picks up the small scrap of paper beside it. It doesn't smell bad, a little sweet but still with the bitter kick of coffee, and she shrugs as she tries it, humming at the sweet and cold blended coffee.

She doesn't really need to flip the scrap of paper over to read, she knows of only one person who would have the balls to walk into her cabin and walk right past her as she laid in the sheets butt-ass naked  _and_  keep quiet about it, let alone drop off a big glass of still cold blended coffee at her bedside. She tips the glass to get the last of the drink down before setting it down to clean up later that she's now finished in one last gulp and set down to clean up later as she moves to get ready.

Still, she's curious what smart ass comment he has for her, as he always has _something_  to say on matters, so she takes it with her. Looking at the neat script, she can't help but snort at how even his handwriting is smooth and organized like everything else he does, like a visual representation of himself on paper. It's what had made her take to learning the written Turian language of Palaven when they first were married and make sure she could read without the constant assistance of an Omni-Tool translation that always had a chance of mistake with handwriting.

_Couldn't sleep. Didn't want to bother whatever you call what you're doing right now, so I headed down to the Battery to prep for the new install today. Don't know what this drink is, but Kasumi said you'd like it when she handed it to me. She's responsible for it being bad, but I'll accept a 'thank you' if it's amazing. Come find me when you manage to join the land of the living, as you say, and maybe we can catch a quick shower together before heading to Illium. Love, G._

She chuckles with a shake of her head and puts the note in her desk drawer to save, figuring she'll find somewhere much safer once she's not walking around naked in the early morning. For now, his little 'love letter' will be fine and safe from spilt coffee in the closed drawer, so she moves into the bathroom and grabs her toothbrush, running it under the facet and squeezing toothpaste onto it before brushing vigorously.

She sees the lights of her room brighten automatically as she's rinsing, the Loft set on a timer to get darker and brighter in times with the ship's waking and sleeping cycles – or at least  _her_  cycles. Tossing her toothbrush back into its container, she runs her fingers through her messy hair enough to get it to all go in one direction before tying it loosely up and off her shoulders. "Hey, EDI?" she calls as she gives herself a last look before shrugging at the lost cause.

"Can I be of assistance, Commander?"

"What's our ETA to Illium?" She passes the flickering blue hologram as she makes her way into the Loft to throw on some uniform that'll at least get her through whoever is in the Mess downstairs.  _It doesn't have to be clean, just not to the point that it smells like the shitters after Grunt has had a stint in them_ , she thinks with frustration as she looks everywhere for her clothes.  _Dammit, Garrus. Must have moved them._

"We are still a couple hours out from docking, Shepard," the voice of the pilot rings through the empty room, startling her into bumping her head against the lip of the Turian-built bed. She glares up at the ceiling and rubs at the bump as he continues, joking. "So, I hear we're getting a few days off when we dock. Couldn't say no to the blue, huh?"

"Well, Joker, there is a certain shade of blue I can't seem to say no to," she quips back with a frustrated groan as she pulls herself off the floor. "And it certainly isn't on any Asari I've ever seen."

"Eh…I think EDI needs my help flying the ship. I should probably," the pilot stutters a bit before the connection just disconnects, leaving Jane to smirk in well-earned victory.

"Pansy," she huffs as she pulls a ratty pair of overalls from the closet and slips them on, not caring to put on underwear as she's just going to throw them in the laundry once she heads off to the showers with Garrus. The last thing she grabs before heading out is the now empty glass before she heads out to the elevator to head down to the Crew Deck to officially start the day.

When she reaches the third deck of the Normandy, she isn't surprised to hear the sounds or smells the scents of breakfast being served and eaten. Coming around the corner, she sees a good number of her crew – both ground team and non-combat efficient crew – either sitting at the tables eating and chatting or lined up at Gardner's station for food. She gives a nod in greeting to most, choosing not to get involved in whatever the hell Zaeed and Grunt are doing with the merc's unlit cigar and a glass of something oddly fluorescent for this early in the day, and continues on her way to the sinks.

"Hey, Captain. Thanks again for letting me go with on Haestrom." She nods and turns to McKnight, coming to a halt at the red skin around his smiling eyes and over his nose in the shape of a chevron.

"What the fuck happened to you?" She waves a hand over her face when he frowns in confusion.

"Oh. This?" He points to his face and shrugs. "I guess my helmet's visor wasn't completely spec-ed for that kind of solar radiation. Guess I got a little bit of a sun burn."

Jane nods as Taylor makes his way to the counter and drops his dirty plates into the sink. "I've been meaning to ask about that suit of yours." He shakes his head with a huff of amusement. "Where in the world did you find a modern kit that looks like that? Is it custom made?"

"Well," he scratches his chin in thought. "It's not custom made, per se, if you're only asking about the medieval-themed appearance. It was actually one of my early forms of payment when I first started out. It was a suit of armor for some Urban Combat games or something and he didn't have anything else worth more, so I took it off his hands." He smiles and takes his plate of food with a soft thanks. "Since then I've modded it with tech to suit my needs and keep it up to date."

She lets the two continue their little talk about tech and weapons, glad that they at least seem to get along since she practically dumped Knight into the armory to work on that stupid Collector gun. Giving Gardner a shake of silent 'no, thanks' at whatever breakfast he's offering, she makes her way to the Main Battery, to see one reclusive Turian that doesn't think he should eat with the rest of the crew. Not that she could blame him because if Gardner's human cuisine is lacking, she doesn't want to know the horrors of his ideas of Turian cuisine, or anything dextro.

The doors open into the dark and humming Battery and she can't help the smile that curls her lips at her husband's tall form standing before the console commands, his talons making a light tick-tick as he works. She steps to him, knowing he knows she's here, and lets the doors close behind her back to leave them in the red tinted, cool dark of the main gun.

Smiling as his attempt to ignore her, she wraps her arms around his torso and chuckles at his rumble of subvocals and halt of clicking command keys. He lays a hand over each of hers and purrs, the vibration through his back and into her chest sending funny little tingles to her toes. She sighs and lays her head against his back, the cool metal of his ever present armor against her cheek. "I missed you this morning."

"It's been less than an hour since I left, Jane." His three fingers link with her five and she feels him lift a hand to his mouth plates, giving her palm a playful nibble. "And you haven't been sleeping enough as it is, so I decided to let you rest."

She shrugs against him, pouting. "I think I'll stick with lost sleep if it keeps you from this damn cannon." He chuckles. "What are you doing down here, anyway? We're replacing it with that Turian one you mentioned while we're here on Illium. That means that, of all days, you shouldn't be bothering with coding the firing algorithms  _today_."

"I'm just making it so that it's easier for me once they install the Thanix." He looks to her over his shoulder, the angle odd and not completely revealing his face in the low light, but she can read his vocals well enough to understand his amusement. "I have to ease my workload somehow. Someone puts me on every ground mission."

"And you love it," she retorts with a smirk. "If I didn't take you, you'd be stowing away on the shuttle. Don't deny." He shifts and she loosens her hold to let him turn around, wrapping her arms back around him when he settles. "So what's this I hear about sharing a shower stall?"

He flicks his free mandible in a smirk and lifts a brow plate. "What's this I hear about an extended shore leave?"

"I asked you first," she retorts with a playfully flick at his mandible and snorts when he jerks it, like swatting away a pest. "And don't get too excited about it. While some of the crew are going to get some personal things out of the way, I really did it so that we can get all the ship upgrades done here while we try to figure out where this assassin and Justicar are." She rolls her eyes at yet another time where Cerberus gives her half of the information on a Dossier that she needs. "We don't have a clue where to find these two, let alone if we are even docked  _close_  to where they are. For all we know, they could be on the ass-end of Illium."

"So we're left asking around like we're tourists looking for the nearest bar?" he jokes with a low rumble in his chest. "I think I'll just oversee the Thanix installation, make sure they don't scratch the paint."

"You better not." She swats playfully at his armored shoulder. "You are not making me go and play nice in the middle of one of the busiest ports on Illium."

"Sure I am," he assures with a smirk. "Just don't sign anything and you'll be fine."

Green eyes narrow in a pouted glare. "Asshole."

He chuckles and removes her arms from around him, taking her hand instead to lead her out of the Battery. "You know, I  _can_  be convinced to change my mind. I haven't felt the ship dock yet, so I think we still have enough time for that shower."

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

"Have you ever faced an Asari commando unit before? Few humans have."

 _The fuck?_  is the first thing Jane thinks when she hears that, her expression shifting into one of completely befuddlement as she looks to Garrus. She jerks a thumb in a silent 'you hearing this' and he shrugs, in the same sense of confusion as her it seems.

"I'll make this simple. Either you pay me, or I'll flay you alive. With my mind," their old friend, Liara – who seems to have grown far past any others if their stern threats so similar to her late mother's are anything to go by – says to the hologram before ending the call. Jane mouths a last 'what the fuck' to her husband before she turns to the new information broker in time to catch the woman's blue eyes. "Shepard!" She smiles and lays her datapad upon her desk, approaching with a soft curve to her lips. "Nyxeris, hold my calls."

Liara's smile widens and her eyes soften as she throws her arms wide and hugs her former Commander. It's awkward, but seemingly something the woman needs, so Jane lets her take her moment before feeling her pull back and look to Garrus, who must do something to discourage or confirm he doesn't want the same treatment. Whatever it is, it doesn't make Liara's expression drop, though, so Jane takes it as a small success over the majority of their meetings with old crew.

"So," Jane edges with a slight smirk. "Flaying people alive with minds, huh? It's sweet to hear I left an impression. That I live on in the terrified hearts of your foes." She sarcastically folds her hands over her sternum and sighs loudly, touched and blinking back tears.

"That? That was just a customer unhappy with the information he received." She frowns. "He'll pay. They always do." She sighs, her hard expression dropping to something similar to the woman Jane once knew as she turns to look out to the bustling metropolis of Nos Astra. "Ever since Saren people have either wanted to be my friend, or  _not_  my enemies."

She crosses her arms, still giving her back to the others as she talks on about her life since Jane died. She starts to wonder just what the hell happened around and to T'Soni to make her this jaded, this emotionless. Not like it's such a bad thing to finally be able to see the darkness of the universe all around, but Jane still finds it hard to see the same innocent and naïve girl in this woman.  _How the years changed us all, it seems._

"And now you're back," she says as she sits, offering a hand to the seats before her desk. "Gunning for the Collectors with Cerberus."

Jane and her mate stop mid-sit in their seats, surprised. "You're definitely well informed." Yet, she's really thinking,  _what the fuck, Cerberus? You're horrible and hiding your information._  "That's not really public knowledge, even if I tried to make it with the Council."

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes and falls just as soon as it arrives. "Neither is you being alive, Shepard. Information is my business now. I know you're on a mission after the Collectors and I know you must be here in search of some very important individuals." She motions again to sit. "I am happy to help with anything you may need."

Jane lifts a brow as she finally takes her seat. "Just like that? No flaying me alive or sicking Commandos on me?" She leans back in the chair and crosses her arms. "And even if you already knew about me being alive and kicking again, you still act pretty damn nonchalant. Most would at least be curious if it's really me."

"Shepard, please. If I had any doubt I would only need to turn to Garrus." She folds her hands together and Jane hears a soft grunt at her back from her husband who had decided  _not_  to go for the air of relaxed comradery and remained standing. "If anyone knows you, it's him." She turns her attention to him and frowns slightly. "I am happy that you are together, even if it seems like it could have been under better circumstances."

"This doesn't matter," Garrus replies with little emotion. "She came back." The slight sadness in Liara's eyes as they search her companion makes Jane know their vague exchange was definitely about his prominent scarring.  _Weird how only the aliens of my former crew had enough wherewithal to actually notice him. Guess it was that wonderful human xenophobia rearing its ugly head._

Liara sighs and returns her attention to Jane. "Shepard, understand that there are no such stipulations for my help. I offer information on whoever you may be looking for as one friend to another. And I hope that, when the time comes, you may offer me some assistance in return."

Jane knows enough of people to know that those kinds of statements always have more meaning to them than just what you hear. "I take it you have an idea what kind of assistance that is already?"

She smiles at that, another of those half-assed politician smiles that never reach the eyes. "I, or rather someone working for me, needs help hacking terminals on the trading floor so that my systems can gain access to some vital information. I'm sorry, but I can't really explain more until you are able to get me that information."

"Okay, obviously you've forgotten a bit from two years ago. I don't _hack_." Jane shakes her head. "I can't even change my terminal password without smashing a few datapads." Garrus chuckles knowingly. "What makes you think I'll be any help? Why can't this other person you have do it?"

"Because the security nodes aren't actually holding the data I need. Instead, you will be creating a minor glitch in the system. That is where the difficult work comes in, but don't worry. Someone else will be taking care of getting through that system." She stands and turns to the window, looking out to the trading floor again and giving Jane the impression that this conversation will end soon whether she wants it to or not.

"What makes you think you can trust this person?"

"Do you remember Poe?" Jane's eyes widen in surprise and she nods, making Liara finally give a soft, but genuine, smile. "She's been helping me over the years develop my information network. You would be surprised by how much she has grown, of how developed her individuality has become. You may not recognize her."

"That's great," she admits with a huff of amazement.  _At least someone seems to have done well for themselves, even if it seems like the one who was supposed to watch her has grown colder over the years._  "When can I help?"

"I'd like a bit more time to develop a failsafe for the tool you'll be using," Liara offers with a slight nod, her expression becoming professional again. "Until then, I can help you locate whoever it is you have come to Illium for."


	24. Chapter 24

-Jane-

She had to admit, it felt good having another one of the old crew back on board. Sure, Joker and Doctor Chakwas were around since Cerberus first handed over the weird clone of her old ship, but she'd be hard pressed to ever truly say she missed the doctor on the basic point that anytime she say the woman, she was either half dead or being lectured about  _almost_  being half dead. As for the pilot? Well, it's safe to say Jane still doesn't know how to feel about the man she supposedly died trying to save because he had refused to leave his station under orders.

Now she had not only her husband, but one of her closest, if not  _the_  closest, friends from the first Normandy, Miss Tali'Zorah. This mission to fly into the darkest pits of the universe and the unknown didn't seem so impossible now that she could turn to her right and see Garrus, her true 'Archangel', and look to her left to see Tali, the young Quarian who somehow managed to slip into the position of surrogate sister without Jane even knowing.

"Door's open, Shepard," Tali confirms as her Omni-Tool closes and she unholsters her shotgun, taking position back behind Jane's back. Garrus keeps an eye on their backs, scanning the small room of construction supplies for incoming hostiles.

"Good work hacking that door, knew I kept you around for a reason," she jokes to the Quarian, a quick glance showing the young woman merely rolls her head exaggeratedly. A quick look to her mate, his returning nod of 'coast clear', and Jane hits the now-open command console for the door. "Weapons down. Non-hostile," she calls out as the doors slide open, but keeps her weapon in hand, just in case the occupants are not as non-hostile as she is.

When she sees the three Salarian heads snap to her call, she sees they aren't in the typical Eclipse armors or uniforms but that of average citizens – if even middle to lower class.  _Must be some more workers who couldn't escape and had to hide,_  she thinks as she quickly holsters her gun, hearing her companions do the same. "Are you all alright in here?" she asks as she scans the three.

Suddenly, the closest of the three jerks in her peripheral and whips up a pistol, making her companions follow suit with a low growl from her mate. "Get back!" The pistol wavers, another of the workers' eyes widen in shock and fear at what's unfolding, and Jane lifts a hand in silent 'hold'. "Get back or I'll shoot!"

The second man hesitates, clearly wanting to step in, but afraid of the two fully armed and armored soldiers behind her. "Telon-"

"Look, buddy," she holds her hands up, non-threatening, and locks eyes with the man to distract him for what she's about to do. "You don't want to do that." She takes a half-step, narrowing her eyes as her blood starts to heat up in anticipation.

"Stay back! I don't want to hurt you, but I will-"

Seeing her opportunity, Jane strikes, grabbing his wrist in one hand to pinch the nerves and keep him from pulling the trigger at the same time that she grips the quick release of the pistol with her other and jerks back, disengaging the barrel. The gun crumbles in the stunned man's hand as he yelps in pain, jumping from her hold as she loosens and throws the useless piece of pistol aside. Looking at him clutching his hand awkwardly, she admits she might have squeezed a bit too hard, but it's better that cold clocking him and leaving him with a concussion.

The metal clicks of shifting armor at her back has the others jumping back, their hands up in surrender, as the one man who had tried to alleviate the situation speaks. "Please, don't hurt us." He takes a step closer and Jane glows blue in warning, her brows lowering in challenge. He stops and shakes his head, motioning to the injured of their group while trying to remain nonthreatening. "He's my brother, I just want to see if he's alright," he pleads.

She nods, her biotics dissipating instantly, and she glances to the others at her back, motioning with her chin in a silent 'drop weapons, but stay alert.' Seeing the weapons drop, the man goes to his brother – Telon, apparently – and wraps an arm around the man as he wavers where he stands. He seems weak, and not just from the possibly broken hand, but she isn't sure why.  _These mercs must have turned on the workers sooner than we thought,_  she thinks as she watches the weak man lean against his brother to the point that he has to set him down to sit.

"Are you… are you the people who shot the merc?" Telon's brother asks as he crouches by his brother. Jane lifts a brow in question and he motions to a body just inside the door way, pushed as far into the corner as possible.

"Now, I usually remember when I shoot someone. I can't say he's familiar." She jerks her head towards them. "You sure your brother didn't do it? Lucky shot?"

"Hell of a lucky shot," Garrus adds. "Clean kill, too."

The brother shakes his head with a slight frown. "Telon doesn't know how to fire a gun. When the mercenary found us, he yelled at us, threatened to kill us if we didn't cooperate. We panicked and he only shouted more and pointed his gun at us."

The third Salarian, up until now quiet, speaks. "He cornered us in here and we thought he was going to kill us for sure, but then… his head just exploded." He glances at the dead body, twisting his hands uncomfortably. "Telon grabbed the gun, but we were too scared to leave, so we just locked the door and hid."

"How look have you been hiding here?" Tali asks and Jane nods in agreement, knowing that they can tell when their assassin came through if they can figure out how long these men have been here.

"Since the shift ended a few hours ago," Telon's brother says as he holds his brother's hand, frowning at the way the other's eyes droop. "And that's after spending all day in the sun and wind on the bridge. My brother… he's not well. He said he thought someone was lurking around in the shadows, but I think it was just dehydration."

 _Perhaps not,_  Jane thinks, but nods in understanding. She's got enough info from these men and the one looks like he needs medical attention for dehydration - _should an amphibious species really be letting themselves get dehydrated?_  "You three should get to safety. The lower levels should be clear of mercs for now."

The brother nods with urgency. "No need to tell me. Come on, Telon. Let's go home." He drapes his brother's arm over his shoulder and the third helps to pull them up. He looks to her and dips his head. "Thank you, again." She gives a nod and stands aside as they slowly carry their wounded away and back towards the direction she and her team came.

"Alright," she says as she unhooks her shotgun. "Mercs on a windy bridge. Shouldn't be too bad if we hold hands." She smirks to the others over her shoulder as she leads the way up the builder's ramp and to the next level. There way is blocked by a small number of mercs and their mechanized backup, but they fall easily to finally give way to the bridge that is supposedly their only way to the opposite tower.

"They definitely weren't kidding about the wind," Tali remarks as they look out across the large expanse from the cover of the half built walkway that rounds around the side of the building to open out on their, still uncompleted, target.

Garrus rumbles in agreement as he looks through his scope. "And they obviously haven't heard of safety rails, either."

Jane gives a quick glance over the bridge, scouting as her husband is.  _Thank fuck I'm not afraid of heights._  She unhooks her collapsed helmet from her suit and raps her knuckles on his armor to get his attention. "Put your helmet on, Garrus. We won't be able to hear a damn thing over the screaming wind, so we need to use comms." He nods and does as she orders while she turns to Tali. "How far does that drone of yours go?"

"Chatika can go well beyond the distance of that bridge, if that's what you're asking." The young girl, understanding the plan, puts her shotgun away and unholsters her pistol. "She can send feedback of hostile positions to my Omni-Tool." She opens said Tool up and Jane's and Garrus' flicker with light. "You now have access."

"Good," Jane says and she slips her helmet on and hears the low static of her comm connecting. "I'll move up first, Tali take second, and Garrus, you're rear with that sniper." They both nod in understanding as she removes her pistol and hops the barrier, sprinting to the first stack of wall paneling.

"Eclipse vanguard," she hears her mate call before the loud register of his rifle cracks through the air. "Barriers are hit."

"Tali, send out your drone while I move ahead and try to drop the rest of her barriers." The pink glow of a drone buzzes by her, its shape flickering in the brutal winds, and she takes the opening to sprint to the next cover. Her own barriers take a few hits as her run is slowed by the force of wind against her, but she's able to duck behind another cover before she's in the red. "Shit. This fucking wind."

Sparks of light ahead of her from the drone has her popping out to fire on the vanguard merc, lowering her barriers in time to see her head dissolve into a spray of purplish gore. "Mark one for me," a smug flange says over the comm.

She opens her mouth to say something before her eyes catch movement from the far side of the bridge and she ducks just in time for a rocket to fly over her head, crashing against the side of the opposite tower with a loud boom. "Fucking Christ! We got sentry drones." She glances around her cover. "Garrus, cover Tali's approach. I need those fuckers down."

"You know," a loud crack of his rifle, "this wouldn't be a problem," another, dropping a mercenary's shields so she can toss them off with a shockwave, "if there was more than one person who knew," a human's head disappears in a red spray, "how to shoot a rifle on your ground team."

Tali's back thumps against Jane's cover and she gives a nod in assurance of her condition – unharmed. Taking her chance in the break of fire, Jane rolls out of cover and sprints closer, throwing a shockwave at a reloading merc to shove them with the wind and over the side before skidding against cover. "I'll be sure to take that into consideration," she says as she peeks over cover and has to jerk back when a rocket goes flying by.

A spark flies from the cover further behind her on the bridge followed by a flash of a gun's barrel from further, almost back at the opposite tower still, and she hears a loud explosion. "One turret down, Shepard," Tali's accented voice confirms. "Second's shield is almost down, but there is an Asari taking cover by it."

Knowing that as her cue, she flares with violet light. "Tali, get the shields down, I got the merc." Her vision blurs and she steps out just as she feels weightlessness for a breath's width before she's shot forward and straight into the unsuspecting Asari mercenary. She hears the loud register of her husband's rifle at her back at the same instant as an explosion and the soft ticks of showering debris hitting her armor's surface, but she doesn't flinch from any of it as she aims her pistol and pulls the trigger, putting a bullet through the merc's eyes before her body comes to a stop from the biotic charge's impact.

She pants, coming down from the charge after running her biotics nearly dry tonight, and waits for the other two to move up over the windy bridge. If the radio transmissions between Nassana Dantius and her mercenaries is anything to go off of, they are practically on the woman and, more importantly, their assassin. Odds are that they are only a door away from Dantius since they  _are_ on the top most level of the tower she's supposedly in and she definitely seems like she's practically shitting her pants as she screams over the comm channel.

Garrus and Tali finally approach, in time for her to have regained her energy enough for anymore possible fight. They take up position at her back flawlessly and she nods in silent order as they move forward, accessing the door panel for what must be the Penthouse suite.

The doors opens to the sight of numerous armed mercs and the tall shape of an Asari woman Jane hadn't ever expected to see in a millennia. Not after she technically hired her to kill her own sister who just happened to be a pirate and a slaver.  _Does the falling apple thing work for sisters? Because this sure as hell is pretty damn similar._

"Wait." A command from the woman in a long, indigo and violet dress has the mercs halting from just opening fire on the three and Jane raises a brow in curiosity for just what the woman would have to say after the last time she wheedled her way out of trouble with her sister. "Before you kill me, I want you to tell me who hired you."

Jane snorts as the two at her back take arms. "Your sister… no, wait." She shrugs. "Hell, name someone. I'm sure you pissed off plenty of people. I've only been around for a little less than twelve hours and everybody has at least  _something_  bad to say about you."

"Fuck you." She waves the three off as if they didn't just plow through an entire tower full of her hired guns. "You didn't come up here to play stupid little games, did you? So now what? You made it all the way here, destroyed my tower, and you walk right in to kill me? What kind of assassins are you?" She scowls as she scans each of them with outright distaste.

"What can I say, Nassana? Your credit chit bounced when I tried to cash it in." Jane holds her hands out and shrugs. "Something about being two years past being issued. And I still find it completely rude that you tried to have me arrested five years ago." Nassana's face jerks in confusion just as Jane starts to hear something, so in hopes that it could be their assassin, she continues to talk, hiding the noise with her own rant.

"And about that. I was merely drawing on a bench. How in the hell was that being a nuisance enough to ask a cop to go interrogate me?" She starts to pace in front of Tali and Garrus, making a show to distract from the assassin that apparent has never heard of being  _quiet in a damn metal vent_. "Do you have any idea how much I hate cops? And then the guy was a complete douche bag." She knows she's going to hear about that little fib later, but it's so worth the look of exasperation she knows her husband has. "And you don't even have the decency to remember me? Do you know how rude that-"

A loud shuffle above cuts her attempts short as the mercenaries all start waving their guns to the sky as they try to catch what that was. Dantius slams her hands against the desk and yells, "dammit! Check the other entrances." She shoves the commando to work and glares at Jane. "And you… shut the hell up." Movement behind her as the supposed assassin _finally_  joins the party. "As soon as I take care of this  _nuisance_ , you are going to cut the crap and tell me who…"

Jane's attention drifts to the shadows as the figure stalks behind one guard, snaps his neck before immediately turning on the neck and doing the same. He grabs the second man's weapon, unholsters it, and pulls the trigger on the patrolling Asari engineer. Nassana has a moment to notice this commotion and turn just in time to get the merc's pistol pressed against her gut. She jerks once with the register of the pistol before slumping in the Drell assassin's arms.

This man they assume must be Thane lays the now dead woman against her desk, taking a step back to clasp his hands together, his head bowed, and Jane steps forward, holding a hand up to motion her squad to lower their weapons. "Excuse me, but we came all this way to try and talk to you."

Without looking to her, he speaks. "I apologize, but prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken."

 _Crap, religion. My worst subject in school,_  she curses inwardly and decides to just go with the first thing that comes to mind. "Save your pity and your religious bullshit on someone more deserving that Nassana. This was a long time coming."

She sees his brows furrow as he blinks, his dual lids flicking. "Not for her," he says with a shake of his head before looking up to the three. "For me." He moves now, letting a hand trail over the smooth surface of the desk as he circles it. "The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions along. Take you, for instance. All this destruction… chaos. I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me." He stops as slowly makes his way to stand before her, clasping his hands at his back and jerking his head to mark his statement. "Well… here I am."


	25. Chapter 25

-Garrus-

As Jane speaks with the tracking officer that has supposedly been keeping tabs on the Justicar, Garrus sits just outside the open office on the bench, both listening in to the conversation neither woman was trying to keep quiet as well as keeping an eye out for anything. He meant what he said to her about this place being no better than Omega, just with brighter lights, better paint, and prettier citizens, and he wasn't too thrilled with the tactical disadvantage of this Officer Dara's office.

From the sounds of this woman they're to try and meet, Justicars seemed like the very thing he had strived to be all his life, the epitome of justice. Above Asari law and governed only by some monastic code, they seemed like the perfect thing for a corrupt universe that contained the dirty, underhanded worlds like Illium and Omega. Only something just didn't feel right with the way the officer portrayed this Justicar, Samara.

How can someone supposedly 'stop lawbreakers, often with lethal force' if that term could actually apply to anything from murderers to shoplifters? The officer's concern about the strict nature of the Justicar, even when around aliens unaware of the power these Asari have, is more than justified it seems.  _None of us has 'clean slates', as Jane would say, and we all have done things that would apparently condemn us in this woman's eyes… Should be entertaining to see how this goes_.

Their conversation stops as Jane walks around the small dividing wall, looking so much larger than she really is in her set of full armor and arsenal of weaponry. She carries a contemplating look on her face as she sits beside him on the bench, her brow lowering in time with her body to the seat. He takes a moment to look her over, gauge the situation of the conversation he was only half listening to, before he speaks loud enough for her to hear, but low enough to keep it between them. "That looks like doubt."

Her face relaxes with a couple blinks in confusion as she looks to him, his response obviously snapping her out of her thoughts. "What?"

"Something about Samara has you worried?" he tries again, lifting a brow plate.

She sighs and leans her elbows onto her armored knees, linking her fingers together as she stares off into the expanses of Nos Astra. "I'm starting to wonder if it's such a good idea bringing a supposed hard-assed Justicar on the Normandy with a bunch of, let's face it, criminals." She lifts her clasped hands and bumps a knuckle on her lips. "What's to keep her from shooting us all and ruining the mission because we have all done something that broke one law somewhere or another?"

"You really think she'd risk a bigger mission because we've all done something against the law? Wouldn't taking out the Collectors be a bigger cause for her to get behind?"

She shrugs and says, "Fuck, man, I don't know. I don't know how Justicars work and I don't have a clue on all that Asari mumbo-jumbo, high-and-mighty shit. What's to say she won't just look at us and shoot us before we can even think the word 'Collectors'?"

As unlikely as that exact kind of situation sounds, Garrus nods in agreement, but doesn't speak as she seems to be too focused on her dilemma. If he knows her by now – which he's pretty sure he does – she's running scenarios in her head, trying to weigh her options should everything work or, more likely, go horribly wrong.

With a huff of frustration, she slaps her gloved hands against the plate of her thigh guards and stands. "Fuck it…we're going after her." She rolls her neck and turns to him, her eyes steely with her decision. "If she tries something, what are the odds she can take out three of us at once?" she asks with an equally sharp smirk.

He chuckles and stands with her, glad to see some of her usual determination back. "You're putting an awful lot of faith in us being able to take out a Justicar," he quips. "Some of the crew aren't so fast on the draw, so it might just be you and me against her." He hums in thought, running actual situations through his head contrary to his flippant attitude. Jane's worry is legitimate, after all, because, as Dara said, no one has seen a Justicar outside of Asari space, so there was never a reason to learn how they worked and that now leaves them in a precarious predicament – and he never did like going into a fight blind.

"That's means we get a good chance to try out our newest addition," she says with a nod as she crosses her arms over her chest, her usually bright green eyes cloudy from her thoughts. "I figure an assassin with hundreds of years of training would be good. And, besides that, we've done plenty of other equally outrageous things. How hard can taking on some Asari monk warrior be?"

"We have done some things that are difficult for even me to believe," he agrees, "and I was there." A soft huff comes from her and her eyes soften a bit. "And I think your information is a little inaccurate." Seeing her unease lightening and wanting to draw her out, he flicks his good mandible, smirking. "If Thane had 'hundreds of years of training', he certainly wouldn't have sounded like he was playing The Elcor Symphony in the ducts back when we recruited him."

She laughs at him bringing that up again and he can't help his low purr of triumph or the pull of his mandibles, even if the right one screams in pain at the movement. "Jesus, he was fucking loud. I don't know how Nassana's men didn't hear him sooner."

"Probably because you have a certain way of attracting attention when you get into a rant." He chuckles at her eye roll. "And you do know that, if you do choose to call Krios out to find Samara, you're going to have to hold off on that certain habit you have of charging into people's line of sight on a moment's notice." He smirks with a low thrum to his vocals. "Not every sniper can adapt to your  _unique fighting style_  as easily as I can, Jane."

"Wait… Thane's a sniper?" she asks with a tilt to her head, her lips puckering in that certain way when she's often trying to think back to something.

He snorts and rumbles in amusement. "Did you not pay attention to anything anyone said this morning in that mandatory – what did you call it? – 'team building exercise'?"

He still remembers the look on Grunt and Jack's face at being woken up so early to share breakfast with the rest of the ground crew, but the prospect of hot food got their attentions elsewhere quick enough. Also, he has to admit, everyone is starting to warm up to not only Jane, but the others because of these unofficial bonding exercises just like on the hunt for Saren. They just may have a bigger chance of surviving this now that the crew isn't at least at each other's throats.

"I was tired, Garrus," she mock whines as she pulls up her Omni-Tool. "I was chasing this Drell all around these two giant towers all night." He lifts a brow plate and she stops tapping to look to him, matching his raised brow. "And the worst thing? Man didn't put out… made a girl chase him all night. What a tease."

"Too bad you were stuck with your husband, instead," he deadpans and she chuckles with a smirk.

"Ah…don't be jealous." She steps close, making their armor clink together slightly as her rounded chest plate hits his jutted keel armor. She lowers her voice to that teasing tone that comes with heated stares and a lot less clothing and armor. "He may have the spit to make me high," she runs her hand slowly – teasingly - up his arm, "but he doesn't have the  _reach_  you do." She leans up and tilts her head to his ear, speaking into it in that husky timbre. "Oh, the wonderful things that tongue of yours can do."

He growls heatedly, turning his head to see her knowing smirk just as an awkward cough sounds over her supposedly open comm channel on her Omni-Tool. She snorts and looks to her Tool just as the image of their recently acquired crew member projects itself about her wrist. "Ah, Thane… just the guy I was looking for," she says with a quick glance in Garrus' direction and that same wicked smile.

The Drell clears his throat over the line, his expression clearly uneasy about what exactly Jane could mean as he tries to avoid direct eye contact with either her or Garrus at her side. "This is an uncomfortable situation for me. Perhaps you could explain what it is you are needing of me."

Jane starts laughing and shakes her head, trying to collect herself. "No, no. Not for what you're thinking. Although…" She tilts her head, as if considering, and Garrus growls lowly so only she hears in reprimand, making the corner of her lips quirk. "No, never mind," she 'amends'. "Get your scaly ass over here, Krios. We got a Justicar to find." She taps in coordinates and he nods.

"Of course," he assures with a bowed head before the connection is cut, leaving Garrus with his wife and that knowing grin back on her lips. Refusing to add fuel to that particular fire, he shakes his head with a sigh.

If he knows anything about her, it's that her nature to shamelessly flirt – and that's a giving term for her special brand of flippant views on sexuality – it's that the more hesitance or discomfort someone shows to it, the worse her teasing will become. It was certainly something some don't ever quite get used to, but he knows his mate well enough to see how it's one of the best ways to help her ease out from behind those high walls she's made for herself. Besides, it's not like he doesn't share in her amusement when she does manage to 'make someone squirm'.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

On their way back towards the detective's office with evidence of the Volus merchant's murderer for Anaya as well the ship name of whoever Samara's fugitive, this 'Ardat-Yakshi', was smuggled off of Illium in hand, they find their way blocked by a pacing Pitne For.

"Thank you for removing the Eclipse threat, Earth-clan! - _tssht_ \- It will take them months to rebuild their organization," he says with the most cheerful tone Garrus thinks their translators can produce for the wheezing Volus. He steps into Jane's way, making her lift a brow in amusement at the man's attempt to block her access to the law enforcement offices. "Also… - _tssht_ \- merely out of curiosity, when you were poking about, did you perhaps run across a shipping manifest that belongs to me?"

Jane smirks and rolls her eyes to the sky with a drawn out hum, as if thinking. "You know… I think I did." She pulls a small OSD from the strap of heatsinks on her thigh and holds it out, tugging it away at the last moment. "This is quite the incriminating information, Pitne. What's it worth to you?"

Garrus narrows his eyes at her for even thinking about letting the little man get away with this, but he holds his tongue, waiting to see if that curl to her lips is more than she's letting on. Pitne For's lit eye sockets of his suit blink as he nods. "For the manifest, I'll give you all the creds I made selling the Minagen. – _tssht_ \- Detective Anaya will only reward you with a pat on the back, Earth-clan."

She taps the tip of the OSD chip on her chin once before nodding. "Fine, but word to the wise, don't write down when you're doing something stupid and illegal. Or at least not happen to leave your evidence wherever the hell you want like it's some kind of read for the shitter." She tosses the chip to him through the air, making him jumble a bit before he manages to grab a hold of it.

He looks it over before nodding. "An excellent point, Earth-clan. You're clearing a better criminal than I. – _tssht_ \- I pleasure doing business." He gives a final nod before pocketing the OSD and waddling his way back to his guards and packed shuttle.

"What the hell, Shepard?" Garrus growls once he knows the man is far enough away. "Did you really just let him  _bribe_  you?"

She snorts and turns to him, a smirk on her lips. "It's not really bribery if I didn't sell him anything  _illegal_." He opens his mouth to protest when she holds a hand up with a chuckle. "Just because I gave him an OSD, doesn't mean it was the one he wanted."

"Devious plan." Thane's gravelly voice intones from his distance away from the two, his hands clasped behind his back.

Jane makes an exaggerated bow as Garrus narrows his eyes, his anger dissipating a bit to be replaced with confusion. "Just what did you give him?"

"A copy of  _101 Positions for Interspecies Coitus_ ," she answers with a grin. "Don't you think Mordin would be happy or mad that I made a man pay me," she looks at her Omni-Tool, "nine thousand credits for something he just sent through the ship on a mass email? Besides, the asshole's stupid Minagen gave me a fucking headache to kill a damn Elcor."

"That's only because you insisted on standing in it." He still doesn't know what death wish she had to not try and avoid that biotic poison, but he can't completely fault her when every bit of cover had at least one container in its vicinity. In one instance, he had had to rush into fire, completely abandoning his sniping position, in order to pull her out of a red cloud of that cloying chemical when she had become too focused on the approaching gunship.

Garrus sighs in exasperation, rubbing a hand over his cracked brow plate to try and ease the headache from that thrown Minagen container back at the Eclipse base. He hears Thane try to cover his chuckle with a clearing of his throat and he can't help his free mandible flicking in amusement. "I can't believe you just conned a conman." He chuckles when she holds a hand to her chest plate, as if flattered. "You know, normally people tend to avoid getting on known criminals' bad sides," he jokes, as if she'd ever imagine doing it any other way.

"Oh? And what would he do? Send his twin guards after me?" He raises a brow and she nods towards Pitne's two Turian guards. "Those two  _have_  to be related… and don't you dare say that's racist."

He chuckles at her threatening glare and takes a second look. "They do look alike, but I doubt they're twins. Brothers maybe, but twins are rare in my species." She turns her head to the side a bit, her brows raised, and rolls her hand, asking wordlessly to continue. "Plates limiting the space?" he leads, as if it should be obvious. She makes a 'O' with her lips and he shakes his head with a flick of his mandible.

"Right… well, let's go keep Samara from going all bat-shit crazy on everyone." She heads into the offices, giving Thane a chance to look to Garrus in silent question, to which he just smirks with a shake of his head.  _You'll get used to her eventually_.

"You're back," the detective says with a look up from her terminal, the Justicar in meditation on the short wall at her back. "Did you find what the Justicar is looking for?"

"You're damn right I did. And I brought parting gifts too." The Justicar opens her eyes, dissipating the light field around herself as she waits for Jane to continue. "Your  _Ardat_ - _Yakshi_  left of the AML Demeter."

"You impress me, Shepard." She unfolds her legs, making Garrus cringe slightly at the odd angle no matter how capable he knows legs like the Asari and humans actually are. "You have fulfilled you part of the bargain, and I will fulfill mine." Hopping down from the half-wall, Samara looks to the detective, proclaiming, "I am ready to leave immediately, if that will satisfy your superiors, Detective?"

Anaya returns the older woman's polite bow with a nod of her head. "You're free to go, Justicar Samara. It has been an honor having you in my station… and it's nice you didn't kill me, either," she adds.

Samara turns to their group just as Jane crosses her arms, looking the woman over. "One thing before I let you on my ship. You may follow this  _code_  of whatever the hell religious shit your people believe in, but I'm running a military ship, not a monastery."

"You wonder if I will refuse to follow orders because of my code?" The woman's expression does not falter, does not fall from the stern mask.

"I wonder if my men will have to constantly watch their backs just because they may have crossed your fucked up code in some way or another. I won't let you endanger our mission to follow your sense of justice." The detective opens her mouth in silent shock at Jane's language, but, still, the Justicar doesn't seem moved beyond her professionalism.

"By agreeing to follow you, I am compelled to swear the most difficult of Justicar oaths – the Third Oath of Subsumation. After I do, your orders will override the Code." Jane tilts her head in silent 'I'm listening'. "You should know, however, that I'll still give you my opinion if the situation warrants."

With a snort and chuckle, Garrus' wife relaxes her posture, her arms dropping. "Everyone else on this damn ship can't seem to shut the hell up, so you'll fit right in. The Normandy is docked back on the main trading floor. Thane," she turns to the Drell, "you think you can show Samara the way while I hand over Detective Anaya's evidence?"

The man nods in understanding just as Samara speaks. "I must be sworn to your service, so that I am never forced to choose between your orders and the Code." Jane opens her mouth to speak, looking to the detective as the Justicar's eyes begin to glow, her body engulfing itself in violet and blue. She kneels, causing the detective to lean in her seat to get a better look, and declares, "By the Code, I will serve you, Shepard. You choices are my choices, your morals are my morals. Your wishes are my code." Her biotics pulse and fade as she stands, at the end of her 'oath'.

"Wow… never seen anyone declare an oath like that." Garrus isn't sure the detective is in awe of the proclamation itself, or the fact that, supposedly, this deadly warrior has put aside her strict set of rules to follow his mate's orders.

"If you make me do anything extremely dishonorable, I may need to kill you when I am released from my oath."

Jane shrugs with a dismissive expression. "You wouldn't be the first, so I take it as a compliment." She nods and smirks at the Justicar. "Welcome aboard, Samara. The Normandy will definitely show you all you've been missing stuck in Asari space," she jokes, making Garrus' mandible twitch in silent amusement at the true meaning in her words.  _What did Jane call the first crew? Right, a 'troop of lunatics'._


	26. Chapter 26

-Jane-

The question of 'where am I?' is all that Jane can think as she stands in a cloud of thick, white fog that blurs everything past a couple meters in either direction and anything beyond twenty feet was completely shrouded. Looking around, she frowns in confusion at the coarse asphalt under her boots and the tell-tale signs of storefronts and buildings just through the cloud of haze.

"What the…" She drifts off as she approaches the closest storefront. She passes some rusty, nameless vehicle that's clearly seen better days and is unable to read the signs, register the letters, as she approaches. Her mind can at least recognize this as something human, and probably some kind of toystore if the unkempt, dusty, and broken dolls in the window count for anything, but, other than that, she's as good as blind.

For her mind, that's enough of an explanation as her eyes move on to taking in the worn down, flaking paint and overall abandoned appearance of the building.  _Must have a concussion or something since everything seems…so unclear,_ she figures as she runs her gloved hand over the dingy, stained glass, the thick weave passing over the deep cracks in the glass that splinter under her slight touch.

Leaving the empty storefront, the doors chained and barred with heavy, metal bars, she starts to walk the street, looking around to see if she can see any sign of life. She feels almost as if she knows this place, this area of street she walks, but, again, her heavy head can't seem to place it. Where one face of building may spark her interest, pique her thoughts into trying to recall, her confusion returns with another, unplaceable even when she tries to look past the unreadable signs and decrepit appearance.

She sighs and closes her eyes, trying to focus her mind and make sense of where she is and try to remember how she got here, when she runs into something solid, making her grunt in both surprise and a bit of discomfort. "Who the fuck put-" she stops, eyes widening at the sight of a rusted car sitting directly in front of some worn down storefront with metal barred doors and a cracked front window that guards a set of broken dolls. "No fucking way."

She spins, looking back the way she came, but there's nothing but rolling fog behind her just past the pathetic excuse of visibility. Narrowing her eyes, she moves to the storefront and yanks her glove off. She can't possibly be in some strange Twilight Zone loop or something, that's insane.  _Perhaps there's just an odd coincidence of similar stores with shitty cars out front,_ she thinks as she wedges her glove on a piece of the broken glass, where someone –  _she_ – can see it from the street if she does happen to circle back, somehow.

Backing away, determined to show this fucking foggy shithole street who's boss, Jane turns towards the direction she had been walking in originally and has to do everything in her power not to burst into a sprint.  _Wouldn't want to walk into the **one** person in this creepy ass town – whatever the hell this place is._

As soon as her continuous checks over her shoulder show her the car faded into the white, she can't hold back any longer. Her curiosity to see this result through, she breaks into a sprint down through the constantly rolling fog, thick and as if able to grab at her boots. She is just to the point where she's starting to believe she may have just been being paranoid when a dark mass starts to take form, sapping her courageous triumph of the unexplainable and draining her little sense of clarity to cloud her mind again.

"No. Nonononono," she sputters as she comes upon that same rusted, beaten down vehicle and storefront, her face paling at the sight of her glove wedged into the panes of broken and grime stained glass. Her feet move to the window as if she's moving through high waters, her expression one of defeated and stunned shock as she tugs her glove from the glass.

"This can't be happening." Her voice is shaky in disbelief as she stares at the limp piece of material, its very existence here like an insult on the very idea of logic. She just sprinted at least a city block, it shouldn't be here, sitting in her hand.

She's starting to realize that this place - wherever 'this place' even  _is_ – is not a normal town and, though the most reasonable idea would be to think she's dreaming, she has never experienced a dream quite like this. Where her sleep is usually occupied by reliving parts of her past, though sometimes with little deviations, she can say, without any doubt, she's never been in the middle of a looping street with abandoned buildings and vehicles and no ability to distinguish anything but what she can deduce.

A moaning carrying over the fog snaps her out of her confusion and she spins, scanning the fog. She can't see anything in the damn fog, but the moan repeats, echoes off the walls of the dead buildings and back to the shuffle of feet. Slipping her glove on, she lowers herself, trying to limit the noise of her boots as she slowly sneaks around the vehicle because she doesn't want to be backed into the wall by her approaching company.  _What little that does considering anywhere I go brings me right back, fucking here to this stupid store with the creepy fucking toys._

The moan comes again, this time with friends in the form of more groans and wails from more speakers and more sets of scuffling footsteps. She inwardly curses just as the first sights of approaching figures start to take shape in the white, twitching and clearly disorganized. They seem human shaped, even if it's hard to tell with most hunched as they are, but something is blatantly different in everything about them.

Yet, Jane can almost tell herself she recognizes this odd, moaning figures from somewhere. Much like the storefronts in the street that leave small sparks of recognition before vanishing like glimpses in the ever shifting fog, she barely is able to register the fact that she may know these colorless humanoid shapes with dead voices before the thought is ripped out from under her, leaving her feeling lost and breathless.

 _Wait… 'breathless'?_ She blinks in confusion as the fog seems to close in, rolling over the toes in her boots and crawling up her legs.  _I really can't breathe._

She gasps, her eyes widening in panic as she feels like the cloud of fog seeps into her suit and suck the air from her lungs. Her hands snap to her throat in futile attempt to try and do something, anything, to stop the murderous mist from slipping down her throat to enter her lungs, drowning her further. It doesn't seem to help, however, as she tries to suck in air, finding nothing but stillness and silence that falls from her lips.

Then, her body starts to ache against the feeling of pressure against the inside of her suit. It feels almost as if her entire body has swelled from some injury, the bruised flesh pressing against the unforgiving metal and ceramic plate of her useless armor. Yet, with all this, she can't seem to come to the conclusion to remove her armor, to release the pressure on her every ache against her skin as her mind falls victim to the same disabling fog that has stolen her oxygen.

Her vision starts to fade as her body starts to burn under the chilling cold against her skin. It feels like a fire burns up her spine, licking across her organs and flicking across her tongue, boiling it on contact. It doesn't melt the ice that numbs her swollen limbs, doesn't burn away the icy fog stealing her breath, but it does melt away her only chance at screaming if she ever found the breath.

Screaming is the only thing she can think of doing as she collapses in unbearable agony, the shuffling figures getting closer. Their dead, yet brightly lit eyes, are unmoving as they surround her, crowding to the point that it almost seems like the blot out the last remaining light from the white canvas that is the unforgiving sky.

Then again, that darkness could just be in her head.

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

She wakes with a slight gasp of an inhale, her eyes snapping open. It takes her a moment to let the sights and sounds - her bubbling aquarium throwing a faint glow across the large loft and her bed and the rumbling thrum that has become her only means of getting any true sleep - come together in her mind to remind her where she is, the Captain's Loft on the Normandy.

Jane rolls over and smiles at seeing her mate sleeping, his free mandible relaxed against his pillow as he rests on his uninjured side. It's good to see him actually getting some rest because she usually wakes up to find him either awake and off to his stupid guns –  _calibrating, the insufferable bastard –_ or he's simply around the Loft.

She knows his pain topped with his newfound addiction to simulants makes it hard for him to ever truly wind down, but it still doesn't mean she worries about him getting proper sleep. Of course, he worries about  _her_ getting sleep with all the stresses of this mission, so she guesses their concern neutralizes each other.  _It seems we are quite the matching set, my Archangel._

She lets her eyes run over the surface of his plates and frowns at the jagged wounds that cut across the once smooth silvery surface, trailing down his neck and across his shoulder and chest. Still, he's the most welcoming sight in this entire damn galaxy, face half blown to hell and all, and she wouldn't risk wishing the fucking disaster that was his last stand had never happened because she couldn't imagine what that adverse effect would have been.

As horrible as it sounds, she'd rather have almost lost him to that fucking Tarak and his gunship and be left with the scars he has now than  _actually_  lose him to some other accident her shitty luck happened to cause to befall on them. She would sacrifice every last soul in this galaxy if it saved him without a second thought, so the powers that be – if there really  _are_ any – had better make sure to keep her husband around if they don't want to see the universe go to hell without her.

Garrus' breath stutters and his hand twitches and clenches against the sheets in reaction to something in his sleep. Her brows lower in concern as she covers his hand with hers, trying to soothe him, but when he doesn't calm, she lifts his arm and scoots closer to his warm body. His opposite arm, until now tucked under her pillow, curls over her back and tugs her closer in an unconscious effort to hold her tight as he purrs drowsily, but doesn't wake.

She huffs a silent breath of a laugh at him and figures it's better to be held against her will to a sleeping Turian than have that same Turian suffering in his sleep, so she doesn't struggle out of his hold. Besides, it's not an uncomfortable hold and that constant heat radiating off his plates helps to keep that unbearable icy feeling from her veins that not even an adjusted thermostat can alleviate.

As she sits in the low blue glow that fans over his back, she counts the moments between his breaths until they start to slow, almost to a dead stop, in his thrumming rhythm that marks him falling back into a deep sleep. Hearing the change makes her smile, her own strange nightmare that's already fading completely dissipating and forgotten, and she lays a hand on his expanding chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beating its slightly different rhythm beneath the plate. She lets her thumb idly caress over his keel as she lets her eyes scan over his wounds, still angry looking after only a little more than a month of supposed healing, and leans forward to place a soft kiss on the jut of his keel, just at the base of his neck.

The hand thrown over her waist moves, heavy from sleep, and tangles in her hair in an entirely controlled move that makes Jane chuckle softly. She looks up, pressing back into his palm, to see his usually bright eyes shadowed from the lack of light, but she knows he's awake when his subvocals shift and stop. "Hey," his sleep leaden voice says, his dual tones thick and her translator barely managing.

She smirks and scoots up a bit in the bed to be more level with his face. "Hey to you." He makes a soft rumble that she thinks his him clearing his throat, or something of the like since he always does it to knock his vocals back into balance. "Did I wake you?"

"No." His voice sounds so much clearer this soon after waking than hers ever could, for which she's slightly envious, and he rolls his head against the pillows, most likely working the stiffness left from his injuries. "It's not like I'm missing anything by waking up anyways."

"That bad, huh?" she asks with a lifted brow, though he might or might not see it in the low light – she still isn't exactly sure what his eyes can see in the dark or low light.

"It definitely wasn't  _good._ " He shifts and rolls on his back, pulling her against his side as he reaches to the side table and grabs his visor. Instead of slipping it on, however, he merely holds it in his hand, his thumb running over its surface.

Jane, knowing there is more to his visor than just a piece of tech like so long ago, stays quiet and lets him work through whatever he's feeling. If he needs her, she is here, pressed to his side with her head on his shoulder, but she will not push him to open up before he's ready. It's the least she can do, to offer her silent support and available ear, after all he has done and continues to do for her. Eventually, he sighs and slips the visor on, hooking it onto the plates at the back of his skull as it flickers to life.

She opens her mouth to speak, shutting it when she doesn't what to break the silent peace of his long breaths that lift and lower her head in a gradual climb and fall, and opens it again to ask him if he wants her to open the shutter to look out on Nos Astra when the AI's blue holographic interface surfaces across the room. "Commander, there is a Drell claiming to be a representative for Liara T'Soni at the airlock requesting entrance. She claims to go by the name Poe, but does not offer any further information. Shall I deny entry?"

"Shit," Jane curses, tensing up before slowing slipping out of her husband's grasp with an apologetic look. She had completely forgot that they had agreed to help Liara with some information hacking or something when they had first arrived on Illium a little more than three days ago. Now she was rushing to at least pull on pants – of at least something to cover the talon scratches along her thighs that are bound to distract the ever nosy crew – and a shirt to go meet with Poe and get the rundown of how this supposed hacking program works so that her horrible technological skills don't ruin it all. "Let her in, EDI, she's fine. Is there at least someone to show her to the Conference Room or something where she can debrief us?"

"Of course, Shepard. I believe Tali and Ilden are awake along with Thane and Samara in the Mess Hall." The blue image flickers a bit and Garrus climbs out of bed, grabbing his own clothes to pull on. "They are alerted. May I assist with anything else?"

"Yeah," her mate interjects as he pulls his pants up. "Don't tell the damn truth when someone asks why we're late. Especially not the Drell woman you're letting into the ship right now." Jane lifts a brow in silent question and he shakes his head in a silent 'tell you in a bit.'

"Of course, Officer Vakarian. Logging you out." The far corner goes dark once again.

Garrus sighs and his mandible jerks rigidly against his chin in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell that idiotic AI that I'm not an officer anymore."

She snorts and grabs his shirt off the back of the couch, bringing it to him. "You'd probably be better off having Tali reprogram it than you would be trying to tell it to call you otherwise." He shakes his head with a slight eye roll and she chuckles as she helps him tighten the catches of his shirt. "And I have a feeling that reprimand about truth telling is due to experience?"

"Grunt was asked aloud why, when he walked into the elevator, it smelled odd. EDI was as helpful as always in providing answers on the subject." Jane laughs and he mock glares down at her, a low growl in his voice. "And  _I'm_ the one that had to be lectured by Lawson for it."

She snorts and shakes her head, turning to head downstairs while he throws on his armor. "I bet you still would pin me to the wall and fuck my brains out again in full armor when you get the next chance." She doesn't hear his exact response, but she's sure it was something good if the growling tones of his harmonics that never fails to send shivers down her spine was anything to go by.


	27. Chapter 27

-Garrus-

He had dreamed of Omega, of the sights, sounds, and tastes in the air that still leave him expecting to find this newer version of the Normandy – the  _live_  version of his wife – is just a fantasy of a dying man. He still is surprised to open his eyes to the soft sounds of a ship's engine and kinetic barriers instead of the constant clamor and screams of a dark station that never sleeps, of seeing the low lit Loft and the soft face of his wife – even if lined with the occasional glowing red rivet in her skin of cybernetics – instead of the perpetual gloom and suspicious haze that smelt of things that still cling to his tongue. Is the ash and blood he tastes on his tongue that overshadows any food, masks his mate's taste, and chokes him all in his head?

Worst of all these things, though, are the incessant 'what ifs' that run through his head, stealing away his only means of sleep around the never ending agony in his month old wounds and vampiric addiction. What if he trained his team better? What if he wasn't so cold towards them? What if he had never trusted Sidonis? What if he hadn't left their base at Sidonis' call? What if he had never made the mistake of opening himself up and accepting a team when he had truly only become Archangel to deserve death?

He would repay Sidonis for his betrayal, take the mantel of justice he stood for back up and strike the man down for the people he has turned his back on. Garrus wouldn't do it for himself, he should have expected it after failing to keep the man and his team away from his own cause, but those whose names he carried on his visor had trusted Lantar Sidonis. Now that they couldn't exact revenge, Archangel would open his wings and strike down the wicked – as he had once heard a human evangelist say.

Garrus sighs and looks at himself in the mirror in their shared bathroom, only the second time since gaining his new-found appearance. He knows he's been subconsciously avoiding his image, the ruined hide and shattered plates, not from vanity – well, maybe a bit – but out of shame. As a Turian, he envies the Krogan and their view of seeing scars as a symbol of strength and survival where others would have fallen because all he sees, all he reads in the broken man in the mirror, is how he had failed.

He failed to ensure his men on Omega could survive without him at their sides, to see through the lies that was his second in command, to truly make any difference in a universe that never really be cleansed, but more than anything, he failed to be there for his wife those two years ago. Had he been there to keep the lifeless grips of space from claiming his love, would the team of Archangel really be ashes in the wind of Omega, would he have suffered the fiery kiss of a gunship, and would he still see that lifeless fear in Jane's eyes she tries to hide every morning?

His grip on the sink tightens with a creak of metal and he growls. He knows she still stares up at the closed shutters, imaging the stars beyond, and he hates that the small part of him that still clutches to Omega refuses to just let his personal quest go. A part of him, a part of Archangel, still burns hotter than his right side to put a bullet through that traitor's head, but another part, the one that had gone into the far reaches of his mind during those two years, pleads to forget, to be there for the woman he loves.

 _Damn it. Get it together_ , he inwardly scolds himself, pushing off the sink.  _Find Sidonis, kill him, and then you can be there completely for Jane. The dreams will be just dreams if I can give the team their justice and she needs me more than the dead do. If only I can convince my damn, traitorous mind._

When he rides the lift down to the Crew Deck, he hears the mechanical overlay of Tali's masked voice from where she must be sitting directly around the corner at one of the mess tables. "I don't believe I understand what you're saying. Wouldn't that be like saying you aren't responsible for committing a crime? Or murdering someone?"

He lifts a brow plate at that and rounds the corner to see Tali speaking with Thane, Ilden, and, remarkably, an older and much more mature looking Poe – or, at least the height difference and appearance of being less long limbed and more proportional make it look that way. Jane stands against the corner to the elevator, a half-emptied cup of coffee long since grown cold if the absence of any rising steam is indication, and her eyes are far away in thought.

"Garrus Vakarian," the soft, yet slightly changed voice of the once very young Drell girl, speaks. She stands with a smile and scoots around Tali's seat to move before him. "It has been a very long time, I'm afraid." Her voice, now that he's had a chance to listen more, has that distinct rasp that is apparently so common place among her people, yet not as pronounced two years before. She clasps her hands at her back and bows politely, coming up with a soft quirk to her lips that twitches and falls when her red eyes scan his face, landing on his right side.

"It's nice to see you again, Poe." He nods in equal greeting and she relaxes, brushing some crumbs from the front of her light green suit, less formal than most on Illium, but not too conspicuous to attract attention of her possible motives. "You look… good," he offers, not sure if her time with the now-distant Liara who apparently has been taking a page from her mother's threats is really all that great, but the young woman eases a bit from her early stumble at his appearance.

Poe smiles again and nods her head, almost as if she understands what isn't said, before returning to her seat. "Please, Sere Krios," she starts, shifting in her seat and her face firming in interested concentration. "I have not had the chance to truly know of our people's religious beliefs and I find this concept of separation interesting."

The older Drell lays his hands on the table top and nods to Tali. "That is not quite right, Miss Zorah. Our body is a vessel, separate from our 'soul'. Where our soul is our moral reasoning and what part of us that lives on after death, our bodies can sometimes act without our soul's consent. When I complete a contract, it is not my soul committing the act, but my body."

Tali's head tilts in confusion at that, but when Garrus is sure she's about to speak, the hooded shape at her side shakes his head. "I'd like to add that there has recently been a change to such beliefs among our people. While we may see a deviation between soul and body, the newer interpretation of our beliefs teaches that one must take responsibility for our bodies. Just as we are free to refuse accepting terms of the Compact with the Hanar, we must then accept the consequences on our souls from acceptance." He looks to Poe. "Seeing the universe has given our people a more open interpretation on our gods."

"There are some qualities – some incorporate things," the young Drell woman begins to recite, her eyes gaining that drawn away expression Garrus has come to know is the Drell ability to fall into memory. He's never heard of them reciting words instead of experiences, but he's sure it probably has more to do with the individual that once was the emotionless child assassin. "That have a double life, which thus is made a type of twin entity which springs from matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. There is a two-fold  _Silence_  – sea and shore – body and soul."

Krios is silent for a moment and Garrus almost thinks the Mess is going to erupt into a long, drawn out speech of religious beliefs, justifications, and debated views, but he only nods. "The interpretation of the Whole is different for many." He turns to Poe and dips his head with a soft turn of his lips. "We do not know Kalahira's destiny for us until we reach the shores of her oceans, so we must rely on the interpretation of the priests and our own hearts." He lays a hand on his chest and Poe nods her head in understanding.

"What do you think, Shepard?" Tali asks with a shift in her seat to look back to Jane where she leans against the smooth metal and decorative plastic wall separating the Mess from the elevator and further crew quarters. She doesn't react and the lit eyes behind the Quarian's helmet narrow with a slight tilt of her head in confusion. "Shepard?"

Garrus, seeing that same absence in his wife's eyes that he had early scolded himself for not attending to upstairs, inwardly curses and nudges her from his place by her side, snapping her out of whatever thoughts she was lost in. She shakes her head and blinks away her confused surprise. "Huh? Oh yeah, sure. Multiple gods, oceans of afterlife, body-soul separation." Her brows drop. "What were you asking?"

He frowns at her stumble, knowing only she can see his face at this angle and position away from the others sitting, and Poe speaks. "Tali wanted to know what your opinion on the issue of Drell viewing their souls as a separate entity to their bodies. Do you believe the responsibility lies on the one who ultimately pulls the trigger, or who gives the order to them  _to_  pull the trigger?"

"Uh…" Jane trails off, shifting off the wall and setting her forgotten drink down. "I'm not really the best one to ask about religion and that mess, but it seems to me that if you have to pray to a god of forgiveness after a kill, then even you don't think there's that difference." She looks to Thane, her usual clarity back after that short slip that Garrus is pretty sure only he knows the possible cause of – and not just the suspicion of her drifting off while listening to something she'd consider boring. "You told me that your relationship with the Hanar was one of equals, not a slave to an owner, so your argument about a gun's responsibility isn't a good example. My gun isn't an equal, it's a tool, so ask yourself if you really want to use that comparison."

"That… is an apt assessment, Commander," the older man admits, dropping his hands to his own cup of steaming liquid and dabbing the bag of what Garrus assumes must be tea into the liquid. "I would be honored to answer further questions you may have, young one," he offers Poe before taking a sip.

The pale scaled woman clasps her hand before her chest and nods a silent thanks as Garrus sees Jane scrub a hand over her forehead with a shift of her shoulders in a deep breath. Before he can question her with a look, she speaks to the group. "Well, I'm sorry to rush, but I think Poe, Garrus and I should get a move on. Wouldn't want to 'face an Asari commando unit'."

Looks of confusion pass across the table, but Poe manages to understand as she hides her soft smile with a hand. She nods in silent excusal to the others and accepts a hug from Tali. "Maybe I can stop by Liara's office and say goodbye?" the young Quarian asks the young girl that now is at-height with her small stature, if not slowly outgrowing her.

"I would like that… and I'm sure she would too, Tali," Poe assures, their expression going unnoticed as Garrus follows Jane around the corner to call the elevator. A few words of parting pass among the three rasping voices of the reptilian species before the young girl rounds the corner, smiling at Jane in silent ready just as the doors open.

"So, I take it our plans are still as Liara said?" Jane asks once they are secured in the elevator. She holds a hand up when Poe moves to speak. "And you can just say yes or no. Specifics?" She shakes her head and points up, a silent warning that 'people are listening in' that Garrus is sure the young Drell's life on Illium working with the Asari information broker has probably taught her enough of.

A small quirk of knowing slips over the girl's lips and she nods. "It is as Liara said. There have been no changes on your end."

"Speaking of Liara," Jane crosses her arms and leans against the wall of the rising lift, "what the hell is up with her? I mean, I get it that it's been two years, but she's fucked up." She frowns and waves a hand in his direction across the small elevator. "Hell, he was half dead on Omega and practically staring down the barrel of a merc's gun, but there's something… different about her."

Poe's mouth pulls tight for a moment before she drops her eyes. "I'm sorry, Shepard, but I owe her much. I cannot break that trust by telling you something she hasn't already brought up on her own." Jane sighs, rubbing her forehead again, and the girl's brows draw tight. "Just give her a chance to come to terms again with you being here. It is one thing to hear and an entirely other to have the chance to see you again."

Garrus bites his tongue on his question of just  _how long_  they supposedly knew about his wife's return, not wanting to make this already tense situation any worse by assuming the worst about the once expressionless and aloof teen. The lift slows to a stop and the doors slide open, directing Jane to standup from her position against the wall and start to lead them out.

He offers a hand on Poe's shoulder when she doesn't move, startling the girl out of her quiet introspection on being torn between the two women, and motions forward in silent understanding. Her red eyes scan his features before the corner of her lips twitch and she nods, heading out to catch up to Jane's side to start to explain in vague terms of what they will be doing on the trading station for their old friend.


	28. Chapter 28

-Garrus-

If Garrus was honest, he had no clue if what he and Jane had really done to allow Poe access into the Shadow Broker's files was really worth the secrecy and shadowy dealings, but he was never really one for the underhanded dealings of information and espionage. Give him a target and he could track and kill them in all manner of ways ranging from stealth shots across a field or huge shows of destruction and overkill, but he would grow old and tired fast if he ever found himself working under Liara as Poe did.

Yet, Liara seemed to think this data could get her to some operative under the illusive Shadow Broker named 'the Observer.' Her claims spoke of only needing time to filter through the data before she would have 'Poe see to the issue' and he fought hard to bite his tongue to keep from reminding the woman how familiar that all sounded to when they first met the nameless Drell assassin. Jane, however, didn't stay as silent.

"Are you serious? You're sending her to do your dirty work? You going to start calling her by her number again?" She slams her fists on the desk. "Dammit Liara, you may have grown cold, but you took Poe under your wing to keep her from this shit."

"Shepard, please," Liara affirms with a shake of her head. "If I had a choice of completing the task myself, I would, but this involves her as much as me." She looks to the young woman standing silently by the door. "Poe and I both lost a close friend to the Shadow Broker. I don't know if he's dead or being  _interrogated_ , but we both owe him our lives. We need to find him and make the Shadow Broker pay."

"I understand the point of this, Commander." Poe steps forward and Jane turns to her, her face firm and unconvinced. "I don't see things as I once did, you and Liara made sure to that, and I thank you, so, please, do not blame her for me offering to use the skills I have to aid our goals. I have  _chosen_  to do this, Shepard."

He watches his mate close her eyes and breathe deeply, torn between the fact that they never truly took the young girl from the life they found her in and the possibility that maybe she at least has the control to decide. It's a situation they may never have a real answer to and it grinds against his plates as much as it seems to affect her. Poe lays a soft hand on her elbow and green eyes open to stare down red.

"Dammit…" she breathes out, dropping her arms. "I can't really stop you anymore. Not after fighting so hard to make you see you had free will." Poe smiles and Jane sighs, her brows furrowing at the expression on the white scales before she looks to Liara, saying nothing, but the words are there –  _don't fuck this up_.

"Thank you for understanding, Shepard." Jane nods at silent 'you're welcome' that's forced even for Garrus to see, but the young Drell doesn't falter, wrapping her arms around his mate's torso in a hug. "I don't know when we will see each other again, so take care and remember to visit."

"Sure, Poe," Jane says with a soft exhale and returns the hug. The girl releases his mate and turns to him, holding out her arms for a moment before stealing a hug awkwardly. He grunts in surprise, not used to anyone really hugging him that's not his wife, but returns it hesitantly.

She pulls away, her mouth opening with a thought, but closes as she shakes her head with a soft smile. "Take care of the Commander," she whispers softly, where he's sure only he can hear at this distance from the others as they talk. "It does not take an open admittance of your loves to see that the two of you were closer than you made yourselves to be." She smiles softly. "Even I could see that."

He rumbles softly and nods in understanding, admitting to himself that they weren't really too secretive around the girl they thought wasn't watching or paying any attention. In a way, they were lucky Poe wasn't overly talkative back on the old Normandy. "The same goes for you, Poe, though you don't look like as out-of-place as you once did."

She smiles warmly with a slight chuckle and waves a hand to the other two women, giving a final word of parting before heading off onto whatever quest Liara has her on to find information on this 'Observer'. Once the door closes the three in the room, Jane motions forward for him to join her and he moves to lean against the side of her chair, not really able to fit into the Asari styled chairs in T'Soni's office.

"So," Jane starts, leaning back in her seat. "What happens when you find this Observer?"

Liara closes her terminal to focus her attention on her former teammates. "Well, I have hopes that the Observer will have more pieces to the puzzle of information, more ways to peel back the layers of the lies and shine light into the shadows to where the Shadow Broker is hiding." She frowns and her thin brows draw tight, making her look so much older than just the two added years. "And when I find him, I'll hit him with a biotic field so strong that what's left of his body won't even be able to fill up a coffee cup." She balls her fists and stops just a moment before slamming them onto the desktop, smoothing her palms over the surface instead with a heavy breath through her nose.

"Uh, huh… Sounds like the guy did more than just capture a friend when a job went bad." Jane crosses her arms and lifts a leg over a knee, her brow rising in curiosity. "That kind of hate and thirst from revenge comes from something else." She glances up at him and he shakes his head –  _I don't know what happened to her, either_. "Sounds more like the guy seriously fucked you over."

The blue woman sighs and stands from her desk to look out of the window over the trading floor, giving Garrus and his wife a chance to exchange confused looks. "Did Cerberus ever tell you how they recovered your body?" She doesn't see Jane's furrowed brows and shake in the negative, but doesn't wait for a verbal response as she continues, her shoulders dropping as her constantly forced distance she's had until now disintegrates. "I gave it to them. I gave you to them, Shepard. Because they said they could rebuild you."

His jaw drops in stunned shock as his wife's tensed expression goes unnoticed, her armor creaking a bit as she shifts in discomfort. Liara sighs and turns back, her mask gone as she drops her eyes from them. "To do that, I had to take your body from the Shadow Broker, who was going to sell your corpse to the Collectors."

His hands tighten into fists with a low growl at the 'corpse' comment, but he hears Jane's voice snap him out of his rushing thoughts and questions. "And why the fuck didn't you say, on the first fucking day I was hear, anything along the lines of 'hey, Shepard, turns out  _I'm_  the reason you're working with the enemy'?! Or better yet, send me a fucking message!"  _Or_ _ **me**_ _a 'fucking message', T'Soni._

"Because I screwed it up!" Liara glares at the red-headed woman and crosses her arms over her chest in defense. "I barely escaped with my own life. And when I gave you to Cerberus, I told myself I was doing it for you! For a chance to bring you back!"

"And what about her own mate?" He can't keep quiet any longer, hating the longing and hurt tone in the woman's voice at the thought of 'bringing her back'. His voice is thick with a low growl and he approaches the woman's desk as Jane stands up, probably to keep this from getting into a mess as Liara glows a bit in threat. "And then you gave her to  _Cerberus_?!"

"I knew Cerberus would use you, Shepard," Liara speaks around him, sending a pleading expression to his wife. He turns to her, wanting her to speak for herself, but sees Jane's expression is tight in control, in her internal battle to keep control so as not to turn this old friendship sour like so many from before. "And I still let it happen… because I couldn't let you go. I'm sorry." His growl deepens at that and he decides that he doesn't at all care to stay on good terms with this woman.  _Let Jane try to stay friends with everyone, but I'm done. Archangel doesn't bite back words to save people's feelings._

"I…I need to go." His mate's voice is hollow, her usually clear eyes cloudy in thought as she turns away from them. Liara frowns and moves to follow, but he shifts into her way in silent 'I'm not done with you'. "I'll be at Eternity."

He waits until the doors close before turning on the Asari. "What the fuck was that?" Her mouth drops in confusion, but he cuts her off. "You find out about her body, about people wanting her, and your first thought was to  _hand her over to become an experiment_?! Was your insane obsession with  _my wife_  so unbearable that you thought being the 'hero that managed to bring her back' would – what? – change her mind? Fulfill your fantasies?" He closes the distance between the two and she flares blue. "Do it, Liara. We'll see who's made the most of the two years…"

"I did what I thought was right, Garrus." She steps back. "What I did was protect her from whatever the Collectors were going to do to her. If it wasn't for me, she'd be dead still!" she spits out, her biotics flaring with the soft tears rolling over her cheeks. "Or did you forget that's how things work when you were off playing deluded hero on Omega?!"

Like a shot, his hand jerks forward, through the burning barriers of her biotics, and wraps around her throat. She gasps as his growls, his chest thrumming hard enough to hurt the cybernetics up his neck and over his shoulder. "And what did your fucking crusade gain  _you_? You're chasing shadows to find your friend who you lost due to your own failures and the fact that, through it all, you betrayed her." He tightens his grip, digging the talons of his gloves into her neck and probably causing bruises. "And you were too much of a coward to even admit it before sending her on your own personal task across Illium." He drops her, not caring to be delicate. "Stay away from my mate, or I won't hesitate to treat you like any other person who's betrayed her trust, former crew or not."

He shoves the desk chairs at his back away in his anger, knowing he needs to leave before this gets any worse or heated. He almost misses Liara's coughed and choked out words around her tears as he charges from her office. "I did the only thing I could, Garrus… I'm sorry."

He stops at the doorway and glances her way, watching her rub at her raw neck. Her eyes lock with his and he glares back, his mandibles flicking once before returning against his chin in agitation. "Don't apologize for something you wouldn't hesitate to repeat, T'Soni. I certainly won't." He doesn't wait for her reaction, leaving the office and heading to find his mate, to try and find a way to ease the possible turmoil she must be having after finally having come to terms with their predicament to learn a whole new twist.

He finds her in a corner booth of the bar, nursing a drink that's thick and smells strongly of the kind of alcohol one would buy just to shove down with speed and leave out pleasantries. She nods in acknowledgment when he approaches and he doesn't hesitate to slide in beside her. Neither talk, he because he knows her enough to not push her to speak if she would rather just in silence and she probably because she has her mind in whatever writhing body is tending to some table across the way.

After a while of sitting against her unarmored side, his anger from earlier dissipating enough to think clearly enough to wonder if his actions may have consequences her Jane with their former friend, he sighs softly and lays a hand on her leg under the table in silent comfort. She looks down to his hand and, in that silent moment, he knows he would be insane to think she doesn't already know what had happened when she left that room, but she doesn't pull away or ignore him.

Instead, she lays a hand, cold from holding her glass, and drops her hand on his, linking their fingers together in that odd way when he rolls his wrist. He looks up to her eyes and she gives a weak smile before pushing her almost untouched drink further away. With her other hand, she props her elbow on the table and hold her head with a heavy sigh, making him rumble in understanding of her unspoken frustration.

Finally, after a long time of simply sitting in the rolling bass of the bar, Jane speaks. "I don't know how to take that little episode up there." He flicks his mandible, as if hit, and strokes her hand with his thumb. Surprisingly, she returns the soft comfort, easing his unease. "I share your sentiments, really, I do, but I also see her side." He bites his tongue, letting her speak her peace, and she looks to him. "Garrus, in a weird and twisted way, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her strange, borderline psychotic, obsession with me."

"That still doesn't mean I have to accept that, Jane," he adds with a low growl in his harmonics and she nods.

"No, you're right, but I certainly hope you didn't do something you'll regret up there." She looks at him expectantly, but he shrugs, unwilling to explain himself to her. Either she accepts that he handles things differently or she doesn't, there's no real point wasting time debating the nuances of his new ways of dealing with matters. Not getting her answer, she rolls her eyes. "Well, you aren't being arrested, so I guess you didn't do something horrible… I just don't know if I can really be completely angry with her, you know? I mean, I  _am_  angry, but it isn't a deep seething hate because my head just isn't in it right now."

That was actually something he feared, that she isn't really concerned with what Liara did because her mind is still where it's been all day, since they awoke. The only thing that could do that is a nightmare, but he doesn't remember feeling her struggling in bed during the night. He lowers his head, closing the distance between her and himself, and rumbles soothingly in his vocals. "Bad dream?" She nods, a few strands of her hair catching on his plates and pulling from her tie. "Want to talk about it?"

"I think I need to go to Alchera as soon as we are done here." She squeezes his hand and pulls back her drink, downing it and cringing at the supposed strong bite. "Tell you what, you come with me to the Normandy and I think I may actually be able to talk about it. I can't seem to get it out of my head if not."

He nods and lets her hand go to climb up and out of the low booth, following behind her. She takes his hand again, which is surprising because she doesn't always tend to publically advertise their relationship on a station outside of shore-leave – her idea of shore leave being solely on a planet or station where they don't have to constantly watch their backs. A logical paranoia that he has no problem following, but he guesses today is different after considering everything they've gone through.


	29. Chapter 29

-Jane-

0500 found Jane alone in the Mess, Garrus having taken residence up in the Main Battery to try and make sense of the newly installed Thanix and what it had done to his calibrations. She didn't mind all that much, though, because she knew that, in less than an hour, the Normandy would start to wake up and her short time of relaxing, enjoying her large breakfast, and reading over the ship modifications would come to a quick end.

And here comes that end in the form of those damn heels of Miranda's, she thinks as she takes a big bite from what she assumes is some kind of toast mixed with a bagel – she's not all that picky which so long as it's edible and even that could be debatable depending on who you ask. She doesn't look up from the datapad in her hand, pretending to be more entrapped with the reports of the mostly complete ship modifications currently undergoing here on Nos Astra.

"Shepard, I'm glad I found you. I was needing-What?" The woman stops mid-sentence and blinks in confusion, her full-speed ahead way of plowing through the ship stopped by Jane's mumble around her food. "What was that?"

"Eh saif-" Miranda's expression shifts to half disgust, half befuddlement - the corner of her lip twisting up as her brows draw down - and Jane rolls her eyes, swallowing her food. "I said I shouldn't have been that hard to find. I've been here for the past... hour and a half." The black haired woman simply raises a brow, obviously not moved by Jane's attempts at levity, so she shakes her head and lays her datapad down, granting her full attention. "Never mind, not important... what did you need, Lawson?"

Miranda's lips quirk in indecision and she shifts a bit of her feet, debating. "I find myself in a precarious predicament of needing to ask for your help." She fiddles with her hair, pushing it behind her ear as she avoids Jane's eyes. "Is there any way we could talk somewhere more private? Perhaps in my office?"

The redhead snorts around another bite of food, swallowing it before answering. "You do know that nowhere on this ship is all that private, right? That's like the opposite of what Cerberus has going on here." She shoves another bite into her mouth, ignoring Lawson's look when she gulps down nearly half of it in a go. "Besides, no one's awake right now anyways to hear besides you, me, EDI, and Garrus. And you can't make EDI not listen in and Garrus is probably too damn absorbed in that fucking gun to listen in even if we were screaming in his ears. I swear, if I weren't I confident woman I'd-"

"Shepard," the other woman interjects, her expression falling from the usual irritation that seems permanently plastered on her face.

Jane sighs and nods. Whatever has Miranda in this mood she's in is obviously serious enough, so she gets up from her seat and grabs her plate and datapad. "Sure. Give me a second to throw this shit out and I'll be right there." The operative nods in unspoken gratitude and walks back to her office to wait.

She holds the last of her bagel/toast thing in her mouth and tosses her plate in the disposal. Wiping her hands off on her pants, she enters the office of the Normandy's 'XO' according to Cerberus and mumbles around her food to go ahead. A raven brow lifts as the woman's blue eyes scan her appearance, making her open her arms in a wordless 'what?', but Miranda simply motions a hand to the chair in front of her desk, biting back the possible retort about Jane's less than commanding presence of food shoved in her mouth.

"Shepard," she starts when Jane takes a seat and starts to work on her food. "You know that I don't like to discuss personal matters while there is so much at stake… but this is important."

The commander nods and gives the woman the benefit of swallowing her food before speaking on the matter. "You know, it's funny… I had talked with Chambers earlier about something like this, actually." She starts waving her half-eaten food as she explains, remembering what it was the ship's 'therapist' had said. "And I have to admit, I understand what she's saying. This may be a one-way trip – more so than fighting Saren. I mean, we know our odds suck this time unlike then where we were fucking oblivious for the most part." She stops at that, shrugging her head. "I actually don't know which one is better, now that I think of it." She rips off a piece of her food. "I meanf, we knew about the Reafers with Saref, but thif if different."

If Miranda could frown any more in confusion, she'd probably defy physics and merge her brows into one by sheer force. She shakes her head and interrupts, "Shepard?"

"Huh?" she asks, half biting into her food during her rambling and rant. "Oh, right. I think everyone should get their shit together before we push on the Collectors." She holds up a hand, chewing her food. "Within reafon, of courf." She swallows to speak clearer. "I mean, I'm not going to go flying around the galaxy to take people to fill their bucket list by visiting the hundred wonders of the galaxy, but tying loose ends? I think we all need a clear head for this." She leans back in her seat, shoving the last bite into her mouth and lifting a leg over her knee, waving her hand to speak. "Go aheaf. Hitf me."

Miranda looks away with a sigh and leans forward on her desk, laying her hands over her desk. "Do you remember when I spoke of my father before? Building a dynasty?" Jane nods. "There was another reason I went to Cerberus for protection." She runs her fingers lightly over her brow, as if smoothing any nonexistent strays or displaced strands. "I have a sister. A twin." Blue eyes lock on with green, the woman's almost completely hidden nerves finally revealed with what may be fear that threatens Miranda's usually controlled demeanor. "He's still hunting her, Shepard. Until now she's been living a normal life here on Illium, kept safe and hidden by Cerberus as part of my employment with them."

"Does this have something to do with the leave you requested while we were docked here?" Jane asks as she shifts more into attention in her seat.

She runs gloved fingertips over her brow again – something Jane is starting to think as an unconscious and nervous tic for the woman – and nods softly, her eyes scanning her desk a moment before saying, "I didn't want to bring it to you if it was just a rumor, but even my contacts here have confirmed that he knows she's here on Illium." She sighs and her shoulders shift just a moment before she stands and moves to the window of her office, looking out onto the docks where the last of the ship's new armor plating is being set. "You have to understand that I've tried to stay out of her life as much as possible, to hide her from both our past and my current work, but I'm out of options."

"Forgive me for being dense," Jane admits as she stands from her seat, moving to get Miranda's attention back. "But just what are you expecting us to do about this? I mean, if you want them as innocent in this," she motions the Cerberus insignias around the room and the ship, "as possible, don't you think us showing up in full armor and waving the Cerberus flag is going to impede on that?"

Lawson shakes her head and turns to Jane. "We're going to help relocate them, but they know nothing of why and they can't know about our involvement. They're as normal as you can get, Shepard. She deserves it, and I'll be damned if she doesn't get it." She scowls a moment before moving to her desk and leaning against it, her head dropping with a sigh as she collects herself.

Cerberus will be the ones creating a good cover for their reason to move," she says. "They will be the ones setting it up and transferring them across the station, but my father is extremely persistent, so I'd like to go and make sure his agents don't get too close."

"Sounds good, but you know I have at least two on my ground team, Miranda." Jane leans against the wall, her back against the cool, thick window to the docks and crosses her arms. "I'm afraid this issue won't be able to stay a secret when we get on the ground."

"I understand, Commander," she says with a nod and straightens, turning completely to the redhead. "And as much as I wouldn't normally agree with you taking Garrus on every mission and limiting your squad diversity, I can't deny the efficiency of you two on the field and with my sister and her family's safety on the line, I wouldn't want anything but the best."

V.v.V.v.V.v.V

Something wasn't adding up, Jane can't help but admit inwardly in the middle of firing on Eclipse and blasting apart clusters of the mercs with biotics. Something in the way they were talking about Miranda's sister coupled with the fact that she blatantly left out the  _huge_ gap in age differences between herself and her sister made the redhead's skin itch with suspicion. There's just something in the way the other woman goes stiff when talking about her father and her – apparently much younger - sister that speaks of something deeper than a family feud playing before her eyes.

It would have to wait, though, for Lawson to explain just what the hell 'it's complicated' means  _after_ they handle the mercs still in their way. Until then, she'll just take out her frustrations of being out of the loop and confused out on anything wearing gold and firing a gun in her general direction with fists and heatsinks.

A pulsing orb of an incoming turret heads her way, but just as Jane swings up her shotgun to take it down as it rounds the corner of the crate she's using as cover, it sparks and disintegrates to the sound of a thrown Overload. She glances across the field and sees the flicker of light before the muzzle of a black sliver of midnight bursts with a shot and she offers a slight salute of thanks she knows he sees before glowing a deep blue.

She rounds the corner, knowing she's covered by both her husband and Lawson, and lets loose her charge, rushing across the gap in the transport docks and slamming into a group of Eclipse. One falls, sliding across the slick floor from the impact, as another stumbles just in time to be hit with Miranda's warp with a follow-up from her heavy pistol and a third's head disintegrates. That leaves Jane the chance to approach the original merc that took the brunt of the blast that is barely regaining their composure just in time to get a shotgun blast in the soft spot of their armor just between helmet and chest plate.

"On your nine, Shepard," Lawson's voice chimes over the comm as Jane slides behind a crate to reload her shotgun. All that's left is the Captain, her distracting forces taken down as she tried to moved forward to get into range of her shotgun. A warp flies past her cover towards Miranda's direction, slamming into and dissipating against a metal and fiberglass barrier just as the operative ducked down.

Jane activates her incendiary ammo just as she hears the heavy boot steps of the incoming blue bitch and swings around the corner, leveling her gun with the woman's head. She pulls the trigger, dropping the last of her biotic barriers. The Captain, Enyala, scowls, her face twisting almost in slow motion, as she lifts her shotgun at the same time Jane feels the hot flare against her armored skin that can only be a use of biotics flying past. The redhead's chapped lip raises in a smirk as the Asari's expression drops just so subtly at the register of Miranda's thrown warp against her and, in a split second later, her angered features disappear in a blast of violet, followed by the loud echo of an ear splitting rifle.

"Now  _that's_ how you do it!" Jane yells with a jerk of her shotgun into the air, her face splattered with dark purple. She breathes deeply as she wipes the blood, trying to at least make herself look less like a maniac, and waits for the other two to regroup.

"Shepard," Lawson says as she holsters her pistol, her expression stiff after the realization that the one she thought she could trust had turned on her. "There could be more Eclipse near the shuttle. I'd like to make sure Oriana and her family get on safely."

Green eyes narrow as Jane scans the clearly concerned woman, despite the Cerberus woman's best efforts to look otherwise, and she nods. "Sure." She motions towards the lift and sets her shotgun on her hips. She waits for her mate before entering the transport floors' access code and letting the lift doors close as they rise.

"I can't believe Niket sold me out." Lawson frowns and rubs a hand over her forehead before pushing some of her hair back behind her ear. "I didn't even see it coming. And then he just stood there?" She looks up to Jane, sadness mixed with her confusion. "Why would he just stand there? And you  _let_ me?"

"I didn't  _let_ you do anything but make your own decision, Miranda. I may be here to help you, but I know that this was deeper than just my daddy never let me have any boys over kind of shit." The woman's lips tremble and Jane pushes closer. "Look, I understand if you want to keep this to yourself, but don't you dare think you're to blame for Niket seeing what I too saw and feeling guilty for nearly returning your sister to that hell." She lowers her voice and looks into blue eyes. "Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong, Miranda. Tell me that the clues aren't really there because I'd be fucking happy to admit I'm wrong on this."

Lawson's inability to return Jane's gaze is answer enough and she vaguely sees Garrus shift in his area of the lift, trying to disappear or seem as unimposing as a giant, over two meter tall Turian in heavy armor can be in an enclosed space in such an awkward situation. As much as she hates to point it out, she'd have to be blind or stupid  _not_ to see what Miranda seems unable to even admit to herself.

Miranda was 'only the first her dad kept' and Oriana 'was grown only when she became a teenager' in the exact image of her sister, which also turned out to be his 'perfect genetic offspring'. How could she not start to make assumptions from that? Plus, it would make perfect sense as to why the woman is trying so hard to give her sister a 'normal life' aside from the supposed money that her father could have offered.

Yet, Jane couldn't force herself to push the woman, to pin her to the wall and demand that she answer plainly whether or not all the signs were really pointing where she suspected. Could she really force past the walls and demand Miranda to confirm that she had run from her dad, kidnapped her own sister, because she was secretly abused by her own, if albeit unorthodox, father?  _But isn't the effort to ignore the problem the same as letting it fester and grow?_

Jane sighs and looks away from the woman. "To answer your question that you won't ask, I didn't stop you from pulling the trigger because you would never be able to live with the possible doubts of if he could, and would, betray you again." She looks up in confusion and Jane shrugs. "You can call me a bitch for that, but I don't think twice about the kind of people who play with the lives of innocent people. I don't give a fuck whether or not you were in the right all those years ago, and I don't give a damn to debate right and wrongs of the past, because now taking her away would mean taking a girl away from the only family she's ever knows for over a decade. Whatever Niket's beef was with you, he can't decide what kind of life is best for her anymore and neither can you." She sighs and moves closer to Lawson, offering a presence of understanding, even if there is so much unspoken. "I know it's hard to see it that way right now. That everything is still so fresh and confusing after he was your friend, your trusted confidant."

"It's always been this way with my father." She tightens her hands into fists, her lost expression turning into anger – which Jane will admit is at least an improvement as it shows she hasn't broken the operative by pushing too hard. "My father gave me everything I wanted, but there was always a catch, a hook, an angle for his long-term plan. I threw away everything he ever gave me, everything I ever had, when I ran. Except Niket." She sighs and looks up to the darkened ceiling of the lift. "A weakness on my part."

"You have your sister," Garrus' dual voice speaks from the shadows. "No matter what he may have done to try to break you, you succeeded in doing right by her. That's not weakness."

A small smile crosses her features as she nods softly. "You're right. I still have Oriana through everything. Thank you… both of you." He nods from his place and Jane shrugs in silent 'no problem' as the lift slows, coming up to their destination.

When they arrive at the level of the public transport shuttles, Garrus moves out and starts to patrol secretly for any signs of Eclipse moving in as Jane covers Miranda while she quickly scans the crowd. With no signs of golden armors or well-equipped individuals besides the occasional dock security – and, well,  _themselves_  – Jane gives Miranda an affirming nod of 'all clear' with Garrus' own confirmation over the comms.

The woman visibly relaxes as she spots her assumed family and motions with a hand. "That's her, Shepard. She's safe," she smiles softly, "with her family."

Jane looks to her, seeing her expression fall into a sort of bittersweet sadness as she looks away from her sister and her family – from a family she doesn't think she could have for whatever reason. Green eyes lift from the seemingly broken woman up through the crowd to the almost exact copy, albeit slightly young and in a much different kind of circumstances.  _Whatever she's trying to hide from her sister, her own existence shouldn't be part of it._

"Miranda," Jane intones, her eyes never leaving the young mirror of her crew mate, but she sees the raven haired woman look to her. "Go over there and talk to her."

"Shepard, I can't. I'd only-"

"If I have to make it an order, I will, Lawson." She frowns and looks to the blue eyes clouded with confusion, with discord and indecision. "You don't have to read her your fucking autobiography. Just let her know she has a sister that cares about and loves her, for Christ's sakes. You really want to go out there tomorrow, face the Collectors and probably die, not even knowing what it  _could be_ like to know her?"

She looks out across the way and her features soften as she smiles softly, her eyes filled with a soft hope amid the normally cold blue. "I guess not…"

"Take as much time as you need," the commander offers as she turns back to the lift where Garrus waits for her return. "And head back to the Normandy when you're ready." Miranda opens her mouth to protest, her eyes almost fearful of being left, and Jane smirks. "We leave tomorrow, so no crazy parties, Lawson," she says, actually liking that spark of understanding that could never have words in the woman's eyes as she turns back to her sister's direction. Miranda needs the push to go out there and connect with the life she so desperately pines to be some part of, even if she can't admit it to even herself yet to get past the worry of danger, so Jane will take the initiative to push the woman off the preverbal cliff if she has too.


	30. Chapter 30

-Jane-

When she wakes, she knows immediately that something is wrong, out of place. She can't put her finger on what it is that makes her so sure, but she knows this isn't the same room, the same bed, in which she fell asleep.

She shifts and stands up from the stale and slightly damp one-person cot with a groan, her body stiff and sluggish. It's probably because she had the bright idea to sleep in a full set of armor, but she can't remember why she'd need it as she scans the dim room around her, taking in the near deafening silent stillness.

Something about this small room seems familiar despite the state of disrepair in the apparent lighting that occasionally dims and the peeling paint on the walls under the dingy posters and cracked frames. She approaches the small vanity beside the cot and avoids the chair that looks like it could crumble under even a breath's weight, trying to look into the dingy mirror, but it's no use. What looks like years of grime and dirt cover nearly every surface along with the occasional stings of dusty webbing.

 _Even the spiders have moved on from this place_ , she thinks as she picks up a little stuffed bear off of the vanity and blows off the blanket of stringy dust.  _I know this bear… Now that I think of it, I know this_ _ **place**_ _._

Little toy in hand, she looks around the room once more, looking past the dirt and decay, taking in the room she once spent many days in as a young woman with some of the other women she once worked, once lived, with. She sets the bear back on the vanity next to some futuristic model ship with paint faded and chipped into one flat color, ignoring the fact that the woman it once belonged to died years ago – before she even went into the military whose insignia she wears across her arm and chest – and moves to the small door of the room, as if walking on autopilot.

She knows she should know this place like the back of her hand, she  _did_ spend more time here than anywhere else in her life, but something doesn't feel right and a pain in her head, a sense of heaviness, is stopping her from putting name to the sensation. In a place that once brought her a sense of safety, of  _family_  – however fucked up one could be when made of drug addicts, pushers, strippers, whores, and gangs could be – she feels a strong sense of unease and confusion over those things that  _don't_ match up to what she thought was here.

Like the large dressing room that rested just beyond this door, for example, where all the dancers would sit before the large mirrors and racks of clothes, chatting and cackling like madwomen as they prepared themselves for their shifts. Here, too, would be a second door that lead to the 'back room' where shady, underhanded trades would occur for the more illegal dealings the ones who ran this club hand their grimy little claws in.

Instead, she was brought out directly into the main room and bar, a gaudily-lit room of purple, pinks and reds that have faded from the probable layers of dust settled into the fixtures and burned out bulbs. The curtains of the stage are in tatters and hang with an almost permanent covering of dirty down, faded with apparent age and pooled over an uneven and partially collapsed stage. Her boots scuff against the missing tiles in the floor, ripped up or cracked and decayed away to expose the concrete beneath, as she walks past the overturned tables and chairs, their topple scattering brittle looking scraps of bills and shards of broken bottles across the floor. Any liquid that could have been contained in those bottles has long since evaporated, their scents not even in the still, dank air, and she's sure the same goes for the dirty and indecipherable bottles behind the cracked bar.

She navigates through the low light of the chilly remnants of her past, through the confusion of seeing something again after so long in such a dilapidated state, until she reaches the door she's pretty sure is the exit. Her gloved hand presses against the pressure plate of the release and she leans more of her weight against it when it doesn't immediately move, thinking it may be stuck after the apparent years of abandonment, but it doesn't budge. She huffs in frustration and shoves her armored shoulder against the door, but still doesn't get anything past a nice clank of metal on metal and the illogical sensation of cold against her body.

 _The fuck?_  She stares down at her hands where the chill had seeped in through the thick, immovable door. There's no way she should be able to feel anything through her armor and gloves  _on top of the damn fact that's it's a fucking solid door._

She steps away from the door and turns back to the eerily quiet club, this being the first time she could ever imagine it being not only this still, but this quiet. It only cements the tension that hangs heavy in the air that something isn't right beyond the unusual circumstances that find her here, but she can't pinpoint exactly why an empty building could be causing such unease for her. It's not like she's never been alone before and, in fact, she often prefers the solitude that a peaceful quiet would offer.

This just isn't the same and she knows it deep in her gut.

Having no other options, she moves to the thick curtains beside the stage that she think will lead to the private rooms if her memory serves – and if the fact that the missing dressing rooms was just a fluke or slip of her already hazy mind. The material is heavy with built on grime and the weight of age and disuse, but she manages to elbow her way through, ducking her head to keep the dust from her eyes.

The shifting of the little world of untouched memory throws up clouds of dust and dirt, making her cough as she enters the new area, and when she opens her eyes to take in whatever decrepit state the short hallway and sectioned off rooms could be in, she curses harshly, "What the  _fuck?_!"

Her eyes dash around the room, taking in the tattered curtains above the stage, the dimmed and mostly blown out lights, the overturned tables and chairs, and the dusty and abandoned bar. Turning around, she finds the same dirty gray – she can't remember the original color anymore – fabric that blocked the main room from the private ones where dancers would take special customers for some  _personal dances_.

She  _knows_  she went through the dense barrier of tattered fabric, so she  _should_  be at least in some other room besides this one, and, yet, here she is, standing like a complete fool on the threshold of a place she shouldn't be. She couldn't have been turned around, either, when she went through because she would have felt the shift in her direction. Plus, how disorienting can a bunch of hanging sheets from the ceiling really be?

 _I've had something like this happen before,_  she thinks to herself as she walks towards the only place that offered any out of this room – even if it was only to  _another_  room with only one directional way – and takes the doorknob in her gloved hand. It's cold to the touch, just like the previous door, but she ignores that sensation and twists her wrist, pulling her lips tight in agitation when it seems stuck.

"God dammit!" she yells as she slams a fist against the splintered wood, shocked beyond belief the rickety thing doesn't just crumble, but it doesn't budge. "Fuck." She shoves herself away from the door and spins on the empty club, her anger growing at being literally trapped in this place, whether it be by physical objects or whatever insane shit is going on with the private hall's curtains.

With a nearly inaudible curse, she moves to the stage and climbs up onto the only part of it that seems like it's still somewhat standing. She knows full well it could crumble at the slightest shift in weight it bears, but she has no other options but trying to see if something lays behind the stage curtains. If luck serves, there could be something,  _anything_ , that resembles a door or access to some other way out of this fucking place.

Her stomp towards the curtains are not because she has hope of escape, but because she's determined that, if she has to, she'll rip this place apart just to get rid of the sense of unease that itches at her spine or the thumping confusion that presses outward against her skull from being stuck in this damned place. It's unnatural, and she knows that with every part of her body, but she can't put words as to  _why_  or  _how_ she's so certain that that small screaming in her head that something  _wrong_  is going to happen.

She reaches out to the thick, almost black from the accumulated dirt and rot, curtain and is about to just rip it down from where it's already half collapsed from its rails when a chill ghosts over her boot-clad feet. She looks down and sees a thick white smoke crawling out from under the edges of the still handing drapes, flowing like water over and around her feet to fall over the sides of the stage.

She drops the curtains as if burned, a small sense of panic beating in her chest though she can't say why, and backs from the curtains, stumbling and nearly falling off the broken stage. She catches herself on a table, wobbly under her added weight, and quickly releases to support herself so she's not sent crashing down yet again.

Her eyes flit around the room, seeing with shock and fear at how the heavy fog merges into the same billowy smoke that seeps under the crack of the door that's now locked and the private hall's curtains. She knows this white cloud of chilled air, this almost  _alive_  substance that has actual weight were it circles her feet and claws at her ankles as if standing in water.

Breathing heavily to try to calm herself from the panic bubbling at her throat of the fear she can't describe, can't explain, from this haze that shouldn't be causing this reaction –  _I'm a fucking marine, dammit, but I'm scared of this fucking inanimate cloud_  – she backs away slowly, towards her hopeful escape in the form of the front exit. She knows it's useless to hope, but would it be so wrong to think that things would miraculously look up for her in the form of her exit being open?

She stops dead in her tracks at the low noise of shuffling and muffled voices at her back. Turning so slowly, her brain screaming that it must have been her imagination –  _had_ to have been – she looks at the previously sealed door and chokes in shock at the white fog prying under the door like twisted, wispy fingers. With no choice of escape, she stands in the middle of the large main room and bites back a defeated whimper when she starts to hear the voices and shuffling echo across the multiple points of entry.

They get closer, the voices becoming close enough – clear enough – to make out the intelligible groans and moans that only sound of pain and, confusingly, of loss. She swallows heavily and bites the inside of her trembling lip, not knowing how to combat the rush of realization that whatever those things are, whatever this fog is grabbing at her feet, the same laws of reality don't apply as they do her.

 _And I don't know how to fight something like that_ , she admits weakly with eyes clenched shut as she hears the click and creaking of moving metal on metal. Opening her eyes, she can see nothing but blinding, hazy white and grays and the dark shapes of vaguely humanoid figures in the now-open doorway.

She quickly looks around for something to arm herself, not sure if it'll make much difference to the shambling figures that can't seem to stand up straight, let alone instill this much panic in her, but even the weight of something in her hand is better than accepting whatever fate this thick fog has for her. Nothing is near, however, and an even bigger shock is her personal state when she looks down, catching a glimpse of herself.

She's not in her armor anymore, her protective plating is ripped from her body, leaving a smooth, untouched skin she's used to barely covered by some flimsy halter top and useless miniskirt. She curses at yet another fucked up situation, but quickly snaps to attention at shuffling and moans now closing in from behind. With nothing but what this fucked up place is giving her, she crouches a bit and slips off her heels, taking one in hand and figuring she might as well use the uncomfortable seven inches of heel for something.

She has a moment to scan the incoming shapes and faces of people her mind should know, should be flashing in recognition, in a place she once took as her first home and place of family before her breath becomes tight, gasps against a seemingly vacuum. Her eyes widen in shock at knowing what's happening and the shoe drops with a loud crash to shatter more tile beneath her feet as she silently pleads to be saved from this hell.


	31. Chapter 31

-Garrus-

He hears a light gasp and freezes, the throbbing pain in his temples and crawling itch under his plates completely forgotten as he turns back to the bed. She whimpers softly around a desperate suck at the air and Garrus moves, too concerned with his mate to appeal to his withdrawing state at the moment. He doesn't need an artificial stimulant right now anyways, not with the natural adrenaline to see to her pumping through his system as he crawls into bed, his vocals jagged through his own pain in efforts to sound soothing.

"Jane," he says softly, moving above her to pin her body in case she wakes with flying fists.

With her arms tucked against her body with his knees, he can cup her pale and sweaty face in his shaky hands as he purrs roughly and presses his uninjured cheek to hers. Her chest heaves under him as she gasps weak breaths of air and his talons card through the sleep tangled strands of her hair, trying to make his unsteady harmonics sound at least akin to comforting instead like of the frantic clamor is seems to his own ears.

Suddenly, he hears a sharp inhaled gasp from Jane to mark her return to consciousness and he pulls away from her cheek to look down upon her, to gauge her state of awareness. He frowns with a growl at her panicked eyes, pupils pulled into tight pinpricks, and cups her face, forcing her to focus against the tension in her body he knows would lead to her thrashing if his weight wasn't already pinning her.

"Jane, wake up," he implores, his chest vibrating in a churring purr, trying to pull her out of her mind. He had thought that, once they overcame her nightmares of her past, she could be free of these horrible nights of waking in terrified confusion. When they had been chasing Saren, she had complained about having nightmarish dreams of seeing the vision from the beacon, but he never found her like this when she managed to have one such dream in his company. He felt just as useless as he did all those years ago, simply holding on and trying to pick up the pieces after the fact, and he hates feeling like he can't help her.

He feels a burning sensation creep up his spine that isn't all at caused by his body's ache for the drugs, but the low violet light coming off of the frail looking body below him. He keens, wishing to never see the strong woman from the battlefield as this same pale ghost, and presses his forehead to hers. The burning that explodes across his wounds from the proximity of her flaring biotics goes unnoticed as he moves to pleading, unashamed that Archangel has been brought down by the monsters in her head that will never fall to a bullet.

"Jane." His voice cracks in desperation and he shifts a hand to hug her to his chest. "Amora. Listen to me," he begs, pressing his mouth plates to her sweaty, cold skin, and sees her pupils shift. He flicks a mandible in silent gratitude that something is getting through and purrs roughly through his distress. "Jane, come out of it. It's just a dream."

Emerald eyes blink repeatedly as her shrunken pupils expand in the dark light of the room, the jittery movements of her panicked searching around the room turning into a slower, furrow-browed examination of their situation. She exhales shakily and realization flashes in her eyes. "Shit."

"Not how I would've described it." He tries for levity to at least help the tension in her body ease.

She huffs a depreciative sound and lets her head sink into the pillows, her eyes narrowing up at the nothing past his own head. "Fucking nightmares." He shifts up and off of her when she all but goes limp in defeated exhaustion and she sits up, scrubbing her hands over her eyes before shoving her fingers through her messy hair and hissing when they tangle. "God dammit," she huffs under her breath and she works her fingers loose. "Did I wake you up?"

He knows this routine by now, she will wake up screaming from a nightmare, but will refuse to acknowledge it by changing the subject to himself. It's a habit she's picked up lately and he knows he's partially to blame because he does something that could be called the same. However, where his issues with talking is his inability to put into words that he is haunted by the man he was as Archangel, the man he became because it would expedite his death, hers lie in the fact that she  _was_  dead and, obviously, that leaves behind a wound that ignoring will not heal.

"You didn't wake me," he answers, holding up his hand and showing her the uncontrollable tremble in it as unspoken explanation as to what truly woke him up. She nods and reaches for his hand, her brow low in a frown that always comes when she catches him in a state of withdrawal. He lets her take his hand, knowing she'll drop the nightmare if he lets her, but the headache against his temples is making it impossible to fight her at the moment.

"Why do you wait until you get in this state?" Her voice isn't accusatory, though, and his unconscious defensiveness extinguishes immediately at the feeling of her little fingers massaging softly at the plates over his knuckles. "I hate seeing you like this, Garrus," she says softly and lifts her eyes to his.

Even in the dark, he feels her green eyes over his plates like cold touches that soothe the crawling ache beneath and has to turn away from her, ashamed still that she still seems so forgiving of his mistake of failing into this controlling addiction. "They don't work that way." Standing up, he moves back to the foot of the bed where he dropped the vial in his rush to tend to her. "They're stimulants, so if I took them on a schedule, I'd never sleep until I just blacked out." He crouches and picks up the vial, a low growl of abhorrence for the damned drug he damned himself to. "I have to ride the ups and downs of it just to get any semblance of control and rest."

"I understand." His head snaps to her, confused, but she shakes her head. "Another time, Garrus." She motions to come back and he moves to the side of the bed, sitting with his back to her as he starts to prep his injection. Small hands run up his back and curl over his shoulders, tugging slightly in silent direction to turn.

"Jane-"

"Just lay back," she cuts off with a soft lift to the corner of her mouth as she pushes him back against the headboard. He opens his mouth to protest how he could take the stim much faster if she'll let him sit up, but she lays her finger over his mouth plates as her other hand moves to the vial, taking it from him.

She doesn't speak as her hands feel over the vial, trying to silently decipher how the injector works with the pads of her fingers in the dark. Just when he thinks he should speak - break the heavy silence that actually feels needed in this exact moment for them both to collect their own separate thoughts, her to make sense of her dreams and hopefully consider talking and for him to calm his racing heart and nonsensical thoughts circling the heated rush of that vial in her hands – she makes a soft breath of exclamation at the same time that he hears a tiny click of the needle sliding into place.

He holds out his hand for the injector, but she shifts to kneel at his side and face him. "Where do you need to take this?" she asks as she sits up on her knees and runs her free hand over his shoulder to his neck. "Is your neck the only place? Wouldn't that cause problems with repeated injections?"

"I don't have much choice, Jane." He flicks a shaky mandible, wanting to distract her possible concern with banter. "Can't really pull a needle through plates."

She makes a soft grunt, most likely an attempt at a snort of amusement even though they both aren't completely in the act. "Not with this needle, any ways." She looks down to it, silent in thought. "So anywhere without plates?" He nods when her eyes lift up to see his answer. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," Garrus says, confused and not sure what kind of idea she may have just had. She shifts closer and drops her hand to his thigh, feeling for something. "What are you planning?"

"When the normal veins no longer take a needle, junkies move to the thighs, hands, feet, and neck. Granted, your case means you are limited to begin with." Her hand stops as her fingers apparently find what she's looking for. "Don't worry, I know how this works."

He nods with a low rumble of understanding, figuring she will speak of it  _another time_. He knew drug use had to have come naturally with the type of life she was forced to live, but he never really expected her to have to be forced into reliving that past on his account. He wonders what sick reasoning could ever be behind such a wicked case of irony for her to have fought so hard to escape a life her own husband dragged her back into.

"Jane," he starts, feeling like he should say something about his responsibility in this situation, but she simply leans forward and presses her head to his. Speechless and torn on how to make sense of his guilt and her tender care despite it all, he presses back and forces himself to swallow the doubt that persists, silently promising to trust in the things she doesn't need to say.

He sees the shadows masking parts of her face shift as she smiles and pulls away to stroke her free hand over the inside of his thigh where there are no plates. She places two fingers splayed out over a part of his thigh where apparently she must feel a vein and places the injector between them. A split second later, he both hears the soft hiss of rushing stims and feels the heated burn spreading up his thigh to quickly dissipate as it flows deeper and he can't help the slight moan under his breath when he sighs, dropping his head back against the headboard to bask in the gradual return to normal for his body.

A soft clink opens his eyes and draws back his attention as he looks down to see his mate setting aside the used needle on the side table for later disposal. He grabs her hand and links his three fingers with her five. Squeezing, he hopes she can see and feel the gratitude he can't yet force himself to put to words for her continued support with his shameful situation that he should never have be weak enough to fall into in the first place. He purrs when he feels her soft return squeeze and pulls their hands to his mouth plates to lay a soft lick on her thumb, making her chuckle with the first free-feeling smile of this early morning.

"Commander," EDI intones and Garrus can almost swear she sounds softer than usual, as if the AI could interpret this morning's harsh beginning and actually seems apologetic to interrupt. "You wished to be made aware of when the Normandy enters the Amada system."

He hears his wife sigh and feels her softer form curl against his side. "How long do we have until we can drop?"

"Ninety minutes, Commander."

"Alright. Thanks, EDI," Jane says as she lets her head fall against his shoulder, exhaling heavily.

He waits until the blue orb of the AI extinguishes so as to  _try_  and create the mirage of privacy aboard this ship before he strokes his thumb over her hand, deciding to go ahead and attempt at fixing the issue they both have been avoiding. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"I don't know  _how._ " He frowns in confusion and tilts his head slightly, making her shake her head. "It's not the same anymore when I dream. My nightmares used to be so straightforward, but now? Now I can't make any damn sense of them –  _if_ I even remember all of them!"

"Then tell me what you remember," he replies with a soft thrum, his vocals a bit more under control now, and squeezes her hand reassuringly. "And we can both try to make sense of it. Or we won't. Sometimes just getting it out helps." He watches her lips pull tight in a moment of internal debate before she nods and starts to speak, laying out the odd and eerie dreams that have been plaguing most of her nights since her resurrection.


	32. Chapter 32

-Garrus-

Alchera.

The planet that has become the final resting place of the first Normandy – the true Normandy to the original crew and not just a copy with shinier plating and brighter paint that seems to be masquerading as their beloved home to their uniquely functional, just unbelievable, family from across the galaxy. The planet that is colder than the blizzards of Noveria, though not because of actual temperature, but because of the unnatural chill that sets under Garrus' plates at the corpse of what was once a sign of happiness for all of them, scattered around like the broken caress long picked clean by scavengers.

They were here officially here for the Alliance, to collect dog tags of the fallen and erect some memorial, but he knew the truth. Even if she couldn't see it herself, it was easy for him to see the desperation to make sense of it all in his wife's movements through the snow.

She was still trying to make sense of her death, of an unchangeable certainty that was somehow circumvented just for her. The how and, more importantly, the  _why_.

It was something he couldn't explain the exacts of himself and he couldn't say anything of the specific  _why_ , but he wanted her to understand that he didn't care, that he was happy in this selfish chance at having her again. He can't put to words how helpless he feels seeing her struggling to make sense of something that shouldn't be possible and, yet, it angers him that even after regaining her, that they are having to fight their way through the obstacles losing her has put on them both.  _Why can nothing be simple for us? For once?_

He growls under his breath and tightens his fist around the tags he had to climb up the old remains of the CIC to retrieve. Jane had, at first, wanted to be the one to find each individual identification tag and he understood the emotional closure she seemed to need, but with her current state of drifting off into silent remembrance, he didn't want her climbing up the unsteady wreckage. The fact that she hadn't even taken mock offense at that was even more telling at just how the icy grave was affecting her.

He jumps down into the snow and looks around for her, seeing her further ahead. His boots leaving two-toed prints along her much smaller ones, he moves to her side and looks up to where her tinted helmet's visor stares up in silence. Beneath his insulated helmet, his own eyes scan over the last thing he'd thought he'd see in many, many years, a M35 Mako infantry tank, its machinery exposed and strewn across the ice and snow.

"Ever miss it?" she asks without turning her head away, her voice flat with a chill not unlike the cold his own suit it working double time to keep out.

"Miss what? The long nights pulling unnamable pieces of debris out from its chassis? Or questioning 'will this drop be the one where we all burst into flames from your driving'?" He turns to her and shakes his head, trying for levity. "Can't say I do… It's a whole lot cleaner calibrating the main guns of the SR2." He hears a soft snort and flicks a mandible that at least this situation isn't getting any  _worse_  than it could be with them digging through the snow for the last that remains of her lost crew.

"That's not really what I meant," she replies as her helmet swivels to his. "I mean the freedom we had."

"Freedom?" His brow plates draw down in confusion and his head tilts a bit, making her huff a breath of a chuckle.

"Look at it, Garrus." Her arm swings out and motions the once-mobile tank that was a staple in their ground missions. "With the Mako, we were dropped on a planet and, so long as we stayed within the Normandy's communications window, we could go as we please, choose our path. With Cerberus, we are flown in on a damn shuttle, dropped where we need to be and picked up when we're done." Her hands tighten in fists around the chains of the tags they have already found. "We're on a fucking chain if there ever was one… but with the Mako we were  _free_."

Her head drops down to stare at the snow building up around their feet and he steps closer, laying a hand on her shoulder in silent comfort. He had never thought about it in such a way, never saw the tank as anything more than a ground vehicle that took them from drop zone to destination, and he knows she never did at the time either, but now it represents something more, it is what she feels she lost.

"Jane, listen to me." He stands before her and lifts her chin up to look at him, or to at least raise her visor to his. "You are no less 'free' than you were then. I know you. You don't do anything unless you  _want_ to."

"But I  _am_  doing something I don't want to." She leans her head against his, making their helmets make a soft clunk when plate hit plate. "I have to work with fucking Cerberus because I need to help those colonists. Because they are the only ones who will." She sighs and her shoulders sink under a weight that has nothing to do with her armor. "I signed away my freedom to protect those people."

"Then I have too," he says with a soft rumble that echoes over their comms as he cups her jaw in his larger hands and lifts her head to clink their helmets together is the closest thing to stroking his mandible against her cheek as he can. "I will always be with you, Jane, even if that means wearing Cerberus colors right beside you."

She huffs shortly, dismissively, and wraps her hands around his wrists. "Even if it means chaining yourself up to the human terrorist group?"

He flicks his mandible under his helmet, knowing she'd never start to dismiss him unless she knows he's right. "I'll even wear their colors." He leans away from her. "Think I can pull off the white, black, and orange?" He draws the Cerberus insignia over his helmet, mimicking how the lines would look over his facial plates. "Might take some practice, but I think I could do it."

He wonders if the seriousness behind his words would pass the cultural barrier between them, knowing that she may not know all there is to know about his people's colony paints. Of course, he never had the opportunity to explain to her, and why would he when it never came up, but he wonders if she knows just how much he isn't saying by even joking about wearing paint of some organization just to show her he's here for her, until the end.

Colony paints since the Unification War many years ago mean more than just stating where someone comes from, where they were born. At first, it was a passive aggressive form of protest against the unification under one rule where colonies against the union would paint their faces with the distinguishing insignia of their home. It was a non-violent way to 'remind' the Hierarchy that, should a separation of the Turian people ever come to pass again, they would stand by  _their_  home, their colony of origin.

Now, after many centuries since the War, it has developed into a means of pride and patriotism in the differences that make up the whole. It still has the underlying threat that, should the worse come to pass, your loyalties lie with your home, but, more than that, it means one is not ashamed to be a force of progress and advancement for that which insignia you wear across your plates.

One is allowed to change paints and patterns as it would practically boil down to changing the colony you choose to now call home and it isn't necessarily considered anything more than someone simply enjoying one place over that which they originally grew up in. In fact, it can be quite common among those who are born on a lesser colony who wish to relocate to another, more prominent one, and their joining and remarking is often encouraged.

To be barefaced would be to publically voice no loyalty to any form of home and, thus, anyone without paint is seen as untrustworthy. However, the act of painting something not at all originating from a Turian colony - not to mention an insignia of a  _human supremacist group_  – was not only unheard of except around mercenary groups, but also considered as disloyal as walking without, if not more so because it could be taken as insult upon the tradition. Yet, he would gladly scrape or burn his plates clean of any and all of the striking blue lines and angles of his home for her.

All it took was losing her to realize that the blue across his face means nothing more than a paint that can easily be burned off by a rocket as it can the acid wash because it cannot compare to the feeling of  _right_  he has by her side. She  _is_ his home. Where she goes, he will follow. He is not ashamed to admit, bad Turian that his is, that he could never put his duty as a Turian above his duty to her and, if that means disavowing his place in a society he's already all but abandoned if not for the sparse contact with his sister, then he'll start drawing up the designs for his Cerberus paint immediately.

Her hand raises to his helmet, pulling him from his thoughts, and her gloved fingers stroke uselessly along where his undamaged colony paints run under the thick plate and insulation. He purrs and, with that solitary shift of hands on unfeeling metal, he knows she understands what he hasn't said, what serious admission he put into the lightheartedness of his words.

"You'd look hideous in orange, Garrus," she jokes as she drops her hand.

He chuckles and nods. "Noted, I'll be sure not to take up residence in any of the colonies in the Eurus region." He sobers when her head swivels back to the Mako and out over the field of white snow tinted blue from the young sun. "Jane," he says, trying to pull her back to him and away from whatever dark thoughts are rolling around in her head at seeing this place.

She's quiet a moment, staring out across the shattered remains and he's about to speak again when he hears a soft sigh over the comm. "I'm… I'm okay. Or, I will be." Her helmet swivels to him and she nods at his hand. "How many?"

"Three." Handing her the tags in his hand, he watches as she weighs them in her hands. Her crew narrowed down to nothing but names on little pieces of metal, just as his own team are but the guilt driven engravings of names in the band of his visor.

She palms the tags, her helmet looking down at the little plates of metal that shimmer in the sun. "Then we have all of them." She bobs her hand and makes the tags jiggle as they clink together. "We're taking you home," she says softly. "You've all earned the rest." He watches her hold the tags to her chest for a moment before turning to him. "Let's set the memorial and leave this place."

He nods and follows her to the shuttle where she places the tags in a small box to be sent back to the Alliance. Helping her with pulling out the memorial and lifting it in their arms, he lets her guide him to where a half buried 'Normandy' juts from the snow. "This way the Normandy will always have the sun and stars at her back," Jane grunts out as they set the memorial down in the snow.

Stepping away to look at the carved memorial curved against the blue and violet sky, Garrus feels his wife's hand slide against his own, her fingers separating in their own special way as she links her fingers with his. He squeezes her hand in silent comfort and feels her squeeze back as she breaths slow and steadily.

"Thank you," her voice says softly over the comm and his helmet turns to her, a light tilt in question. "I don't think I could've done this without you. At least… not without wanting to stay here." His hand tenses in hers, but she continues before he can speak. "I can't help but feel that I belong here, with the dead. Why was I better than them to have found another chance at life? Do I not belong here as much as they do, if not more, because I was their Commander that failed? How can I look in the mirror and  _not_  pull away from the inhuman scars over my face or think that I don't belong?"

She sighs and finally looks to him. "But, maybe, just maybe, I don't have to feel unworthy of being alive if I can make good on the opportunity I've been given. They were all soldiers,  _my_ soldiers, and though that doesn't mean they were aware of what we were getting into, it does mean that they wouldn't want me on my ass. They'd want me to fight every asshole that stands in our way, make good on their sacrifice."

He smiles under his helmet, proud to hear her coming out of the dark cloud of depression this planet pulled over her head and was trying to suffocate her in. "That sounds like the Jane Shepard I know."

"No, it sounds like the Jane  _Vakarian_  you know." He can hear the shared smile in her voice, her confidence building up to the woman he married, the woman that dragged this exact crew together and towards a cause they all thought impossible.

He nods and agrees, "That it does. And your crew would be proud of you,  _is_  proud of you." He tightens his hold on her hand. "You may not think you are any different from anyone else, but you are, Jane."

She snorts and rolls her head. "You're biased."

"Yes and no." He knows by the turn of her head that she doesn't quite believe him and he tugs her hand to get her attention back. "Look, I won't get into the pep talks because I'm horrible with them, but do you really think a crew like the one we have would be able to work together, let alone  _share dinners together_ , without you? Think about it, Jane. You know I'm right."

She shakes her head, but doesn't argue as she gives the monument a last lingering look. Her hand in his tenses before she drops her helmeted head and exhales heavily over the comm. "Let's go, Garrus. We've done our business here." She looks out over the wreckage. "We've intruded on this place of the dead enough."

He nods and lets her hand go as she turns back to the shuttle. Helping her climb in so as not to slip on the ice that's built up on the shuttle's step, he takes a last look over the grave of his mate's first 'family' since her attack on Akuze before accepting her offered hand and climbing up into the Cerberus shuttle.

When they arrive back at the ship, Jane stays behind in the CIC to message the Admiral that was her contact in the Alliance and had given her the assistance in finding the Normandy. She tells him to take the tags with him to their Cabin, this personal of a cargo not something she wants to trust her Yeoman, despite their friendly rapport, with. He knows his wife will take it upon herself to send the tags back to the Alliance, even use her own credit to pay for the safest transport possible, and he doesn't blame her. It  _is_ what he had done with the belongings of his own lost team, after all.

He sets the small black box on her desk, amidst the piles of actual papers where she has scribbled notes and doodles and datapads, and moves into the room, his hands moving to slip off his helmet. He hiss when the tightly sealed armor rubs just so over his bandaged side and curses inwardly at the fact that his wounds apparently swell when he misses his pain medication, but ignores the prescribed pills on the lounge table as he sets the painful piece of restricting armor down.

Taking deep, slow breaths, he waits until the pain subsides back down to a manageable ache before opening his eyes again. He's sure that if the doctor or, even worse, his mate, found out he wasn't taking the meds to keep the pain at bay, they called him stupidly stubborn – or, in Jane's case, something much more  _colorful_  – but he can't stand the feeling of lightheadedness and slight confusion they leave him with, so he sticks with hiding the pain until it heals enough that he won't need to rely on his shaky lying skills.

He stops midway through unsnapping his chest plate when his eyes lock on the heavily locked crate under the desk that he occasionally uses when he cleans his guns here in the Loft. For such an assuming footlocker, it holds one of the most painful parts of his life within its flat black walls. More than just the material artifacts of his –  _their_ – past, it holds a piece of  _himself_  he had locked away so long ago to save himself from the pain.

Jane had died and, with what little belongings of hers he could carry, he had buried away a part of himself that had ever truly felt happy,  _loved_. He became Archangel because without that locked away piece of himself, he was nothing else but a soulless machine. Could he really follow in his promise and let her open it and release the pain he fought so hard to keep away?

He is unable to find the answer before the doors to the Loft open and his mate walks through the door, stretching her neck to the side with a grimace as she carries at least half of her armor she must have taken off on the lift. "Damn, I hate those fucking helmets. You'd think they could make them airtight and still with enough room that they don't give you a damn headache after an hour. That and they feel like I'm carrying a damn Krogan on my shoulders."

He chuckles stiffly and relatches the few snaps of his chest plate back closed. Blame it on Omega, but he just feels more prepared for battle in full armor, even when that battle is going to be one with his own emotions and willpower at the hands of his own wife. She smiles and sets her removed armor on the table for cleaning later, moving to him to hook fingers under the edges of his chest plate.

"Garrus," she says with a tilt of her head. "The point of relaxing in the Loft is to take  _off_  your armor, not put it on." She snaps a single catch and frowns when he covers her hand with his own.

"Not yet," he admits with a low rumble and shifts his eyes to the crate in silent explanation. Her green eyes follow his and her lips open into a silent 'oh' as the situation starts to sink in.

He's always known she was smarter than she let on, but he wasn't expecting her to turn to him with a soft smile before lifting to her toes and planting a soft kiss on his chin. She lets his armor go and moves back to the table, silently snapping off her leg plates and setting them on the table. Slipping off her boots, she is left in only her undersuit as she slowly arranges her armor out on the table so that it's easy to clean and replace her armor come morning without having to detangle straps and rearrange pieces for efficiency.

Once done, she turns to him and motions to sit on the couch. Her face leaves no argument, stern command in her eyes despite the loose curl of her lips, and he sighs as he moves to her side, sitting his weight on the plush cushions. While she will give him all the time he needs and will not push him, he can clearly see that she will not drop this matter and he doesn't know if he should be angry or grateful that she has seemed to turned his own sense of stubbornness back on its heel.

"This will help, Garrus," she says with a concerned frown at his apparent look of hesitance. He wonders if she can see the entirety of the emotions on his plated face, see the rushing thoughts and concerns in his eyes when she cups his face in her hands and lifts it to look directly into them.

"Jane, I…" A low sputter of panicked keen cracks in his throat and he cringes at her confused blink, knowing she must have heard. His unsecured mandible flutters against her palm and he looks away from her imploring emerald eyes, his fists tightening in shame at his uncontrolled unease.

"Hey." He feels her lean forward and press her forehead to his. "We do this together. As we always have."

Closing his eyes, he swallows thickly and holds his forehead to hers as he tries to calm his rushing thoughts at the memories trapped within that footlocker. As he feels her fingers lightly caress his plates where she wouldn't hurt him unintentionally, he nods softly, repeating to himself that  _this_  is real,  _she_ is real, and that the memories within that box are just that, pieces of a painful past. He grabs her hands at his face and links his fingers with hers, telling himself through touch that he could never manage to replicate in his most vivid hallucinations that she is here, not gone as that crate will try to make him believe.

"Okay," he gets out with a weak breath. Blue eyes open directly to the green that his best dreams and memories never compared to and nods again to assuage the concern that swims within them.

She nods in understanding and moves to the large crate, dragging it out from under the desk and across the floor to rest at his feet. Taking his hand in hers to give it a single squeeze of support, she sits at his side and lets him take the first step, her warm smile like a balm on his nerves.

With a last deep breath, Garrus moves his hands to the biometric lock he had personally installed on his crate to keep prying eyes from. Her brow quirks in silent consideration of that difference from the other crates, but she doesn't make him explain that this chest was never meant for anyone to access should he have ever managed to gain the end he had sought. In fact, he still wonders why he didn't just permanently weld the damn thing shut considering that he never planned to open it in all the time he had spent on Omega. Perhaps, deep down, he had a feeling that somehow he would find a reason to reopen the wounds of that old life? Yet, the only reason to open this would have been for her and he certainly couldn't have imagined she'd defy death, couldn't he?

"Garrus?" Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts, cutting the low growl he didn't know he was making to a stuttered grunt. He looks to her and sees her frown, her eyes dropping to the footlocker. "Look, you don't have to-"

"No, no," he interrupts with a rumble as he takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I just got lost in my own thoughts for a second."

She huffs a depreciative laugh and nods slightly. "I know that feeling. Looks like both of us have been doing that a lot today." She pauses and her brows lower in thought as she motions with her chin at the black box. "This is your Alchera, isn't it?" Her green eyes turn to his, searching deep into his own. "This is what you feel you left behind."

"No. It's what I had thought I lost," he admits, his mandibles relaxing with realization. Is keeping this chest closed in fear that this –  _her_ – is still some deluded thought of a vigilante dying in a pool of his own blood no better than her own fears of her existence? Would living in denial of what they really lost, but have managed to find even through the pains and scars of separation, be against everything he has been trying to convince her of, that they are  _alive_?

He could never live with himself for failing her in this, not after failing her once. Taking the crate's lid in his hands, he decides that, in order to expect her to be strong for others, he needs to be strong for her first. Even with both broken and struggling to cope with what the universe has thrown on their individual shoulders, he and Jane have always been the strength the other has needed at times where the line between need and support have been blurred as they are now. It is for that reason that he finally manages the will to lift off the lid of the footlocker and release the spirit of the life that he had thought gone so many dark days ago.

Jane's eyes widen and her mouth drops when he lets the lid fall from his hands to clang against the metal grates of the floor. Like a punch to the keel, the scent of her things - wood, charcoal, some strange cleaner to keep fabric clean and crisp – hits him in the face and he physically flinches at the last time he ever pressed these smells to his muzzle, just before taking the permanent mantle of Archangel. While not the overall scent that is  _her_ , his mate, these things meant a home where they weren't Shepard and Vakarian, but Jane and Garrus, and even this Loft can't match that sense of a home away from the difficulties of the universe around them that the tiny apartment on the Citadel once had.

"It's… it's my wedding dress," his wife says softly as her hands drop to stroke the remarkably crisply white material. "You kept it."

He rumbles in hurt confusion and frowns. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

She pulls it out of the box and up onto her lap, running her hands over the lace and sheer materials. "I didn't think Turians showed that much importance to wedding clothes since you all destroy them afterwards to have sex."

"It smelled like you," he explains with a shaky voice, letting his hand ghost over it, afraid to touch it for fear of it bursting into flames or shredding under his talons. It's been a long time for them all and it seems only this scrap of white fabric made it out unscathed, it'd be a shame to ruin it with his blood and ash stained hands. "And you were so happy that day. I just..."

She pushes the dress aside, draping it haphazardly over the back of the couch to deal with later, and brushes her finger tips over his undamaged mandible. Covering her hand with his own, he takes a moment to calm his tight vocals and let the slightly cooler touch of her ungloved hand soothe the ache in his chest at reliving the pain of so long ago. He strokes his thumb along her wrist, delighting in the light huff and squirm of her lips as she tries to fight the tickling sensation, and lets her go once he's confident enough to continue.

Garrus nods to the crate, giving his wife the lead to explore the meager contents of life he salvaged from their apartment two years ago. She reaches in slowly and gasps softly when her hands pull out her sketchpads, one after the other until she has all of them including a makeshift binding of her loose sketches from the first Normandy where she would draw on anything somewhat recognizable as applicable to draw on. She smiles as her eyes light up and her fingers flip through the pages of their travels.

"I can't believe you kept  _all_  of them, Garrus," she exclaims with a happiness he even feels breaking at that the heavy weight in his chest. "I mean, this is a shit ton of pictures. I can't even remember I  _had_ this many." She gasps when she sees a sketch of a soldier he doesn't quite recognize and points. "Holy shit, that's Emerson." Confused, he doesn't respond to that and her head snaps up before she chuckles a bit. "Emerson was one of the men we lost," she explains before dropping back to the book, flipping through with what looks like purpose. "I wonder if I can find all of them. Maybe I could send the copies to their families."

"You drew everyone on the Normandy?" He takes the sketchpads that slide and nearly fall from her lap in her frantic searching, her eyes flitting over the charcoal images of people and places.

She nods and holds the pages still where she's halfway through flipping them through her fingers, looking to him. "I even drew people off the Normandy. You know how it is, when I see people day in and day out, I can't get them out of my head unless I draw them."

He chuckles at the truth in that, in how she would often stay up late at night when they lived together drawing someone or something that stuck in her head for some reason or another. "I distinctly remember you saying that even seeing someone once had you sketching them." She offers the book and he takes it readily, looking at the images. "Sometimes I felt a bit jealous that you could sketch someone after a single drawing."

She snorts and hands holds up a book that's nothing more than a thick stack of papers bound between two, much thicker pieces of black material, the contents of which he doesn't remember after finding out just how many books of drawings she has – not to mention her odd form of organizing her art. She taps the cover with a finger and smirks, purring. "This baby is all the reason you need not to be." She hands it over. "You didn't look at these after…"

"After you  _died_?" His mandible flicks rigidly as he tries to clamp down the pained growl. "No."

"Shit, I'm not really too good at this, am I?"

"You're fine," he offers with a hand out for the books still on her lap in effort and hopes that she will continue despite the painful reminders. Even if it hurts, he must admit that opening the crate of keepsakes with her at his side is not as devastating as it was sealing it alone. "There's not much left, so might as well keep going." He flicks a reassuring mandible and nods at her questioning eyes. "Trust me, Jane. It's doing more good than harm."

Smiling, his mate nods and covers his hand with her own before leaning over to remove the last article of any value from the crate, her black wood guitar. Her breath draws short as her hands ghost over the glossy surface, as if afraid to touch it, and he almost breaks the silence to question if she's alright before he hears the single strum of note, off-note if memory serves, but enough to break the spell that had fallen over them.

"Fucking hell. I missed this baby." Garrus watches as she lifts the guitar from the box, laying it in her lap to run her hand over the surface. "Damn, how the hell did you manage to keep it in such good condition. Aside from being out of tune and needing a cleaning, it's still as it was when I bought it." She grins and looks up to him, her eyes bright with joy. "Have I ever told you how much I fucking love you, you ugly bastard?"

As surprising at it seems to him after so long of feeling the pain and loss at just so much as  _looking_ at the crate, he actually starts to feel himself loosen up around her genuine sense of joy, especially after such a day as this of digging up both their past pains. He can't help but chuckle with a lopsided smile, the pain in his face disappearing in the short moments of true happiness he can have with her. "Haven't heard put quite like that in a while. I was starting to think my excellent romantic skills were failing me somehow. But that's impossible, my skills at fault?"

She laughs and sets the guitar aside. Standing, she takes the books from his hands and sets them on the small area of the table that is left from her scattering of armor pieces. She holds out her hands with a smile in silent invitation and, with such a simple gesture, it feels like the last of his doubts about his sanity and the truth in this existence with her once again alive dissipates as he takes her offered hands, letting her pull him up.


	33. Chapter 33

-Jane-

Jane wakes from her slumber with a shaky exhale and a slight shiver, the chill running up her spine in the place of the comforting heat she so loves and the slightly ridged expanse of plate and angles. Groaning in frustration at losing her soothing heat, she rolls with eyes clamped shut in hopes of returning to sleep once this little obstacle is overcome and her pig-headed husband returns where he belongs and throws her arm over to his side to search blindly. She huffs and squints an eye open with her hand connects with plate and looks up to the blindingly bright orange glow of his Omni-Tool.

"You better not be calibrating," she groans half into the pillow, putting as much ire in her one-eyed glare.

Chuckling as he shuts down the tool, Garrus shakes his head and flicks that one mandible. "And face you wrath? Not likely." She narrows her eye and huffs, unconvinced. He smiles again and runs his talons as much as he can through her tussled hair. "No. I was…" His expression drops into something more considering, as if measuring his words. "I was messaging my sister."

Better than any bucket of ice water, that statement alone wakes her up and she sits up on her elbow to give him her full attention. "Is everything okay?" She frowns. "Normally something like that comes loaded."

"She's… frustrated." He runs talons through her hair again as he pauses, his mandible drawing firm against his chin in combating thoughts. After a deep breath, almost like a sigh, his eyes look to hers. "My mother has been ill for… let's just say it's been a long time since she hasn't been herself. We've all really known, but it recently got worse."

Hearing the soft buzz of distress in his vocals and unable to truly know how to help him, Jane sits up to sit with him. She lets him pull her into his arms and lays her head on his shoulder, feeling him nuzzle his mandible in her hair. They tangle a bit, but she leaves it be, if it doesn't seem to be bothering him, than she can let her odd alien parts stay stuck in his odd alien parts for a little bit. Feeling his warm breath fan over her scalp, she lays her hand on his chest in comfort. "Do you need to go to her?" She leaves the 'for whatever reason, assistance or goodbyes' out, damning her poisonous pessimism for even thinking it.

She feels him shake his head and sigh, making her hair brush and tickle her forehead. "No. Despite thinking that I should feel guilty over this, over wanting to stay, I know my mother and I know what she would want me to do." Confused, she tilts her head up to look at him and feels him pull away to grant her the space. Though his eyes hold that pain she would imagine he'd feel at the thought of his beloved mother sick – and bad, by the sounds of it – his face is confident in a way that shows he has made a decision. "My mother would want me here. And this isn't just my heart saying this, I'm sure of it, because I know her. I've promised my gun to your fight, no matter where my personal loyalties are, and I'm a good enough Turian to honor that. She would want that too." His expression loosens a bit and his mandible shifts into a bit of a smile as he cups his large hand to her jaw and cheek. "But after, I'd love for you to meet her. To meet my family."

She matches his warm smile and covers his hand with her own. "As your Commander or…?"

"As my mate, Jane," he corrects as his smile relaxes and he purrs, leaning closer to press his forehead to hers. "I waited long enough behind secrecy. And with you already making threats to walk around the ship shirtless just to let everyone see your bondmark to get them to finally shut up, I think it's safe to say that you are done hiding as well."

She chuckles and laughs. "So no walking up to the in-laws without clothes on just to break the ice? Damn." She makes a pouting face and he laughs, tilting her chin up to brush his mouth plates against her lips.

"That might make things harder, I'm afraid to admit. My father is a bit more… orthodox." He chuckles and licks the corner of her mouth. "I think a nod of you head or a human handshake would be a better start."

She chuckles and lifts her chin when he ducks down to inhale along her throat. "Damn… but that's so boring."

He hums as she feels his rough tongue run up from clavicle to jaw and it makes her breath quicken. "You'll survive." Shifting over her, she feels his hand move to her lower back to pull her away from the headboard. She follows his silent command and scoots down to lay under his raised body, making sure not to hit his arm holding him and topple him into a heap on top of her like that one time before.

Once situated, he lowers and cups the back of her head, lifting to his mouth plates. He kisses her and she opens welcomingly with a soft moan as his tongue brushes lightly against her lips. His chest rumbles and swirls his tongue with hers before she manages to close her lips around the slender muscle, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks him deeper. Hand in her hair tightens with a growl and she can't stop the resulting moan, loving that slight sting against her scalp.

Obviously feeding off her reactions, he pulls from her mouth with a sharp growl and drops his head to her neck. He pulls her head back with his fistful of red locks and she moans at the sensation that blooms under his hand and hot tongue along her pulse. "Fuck," she pants as her hands claw desperately at his cowl.

She must hit a sore spot on his still healing shoulder because he hisses a snarl and tosses his head to hit firm plates against her jaw hard enough to make her see stars. When she's about to speak to apologize, even moving her hand from his shoulder, he moves, letting her hair go to drop lower over her body. He runs his tongue over her breast as he takes the other in hand, squeezing roughly before lifting his palm to pinch and twist her nipples.

She moans and pants, lifting her breasts closer to his mouth and working hand. Dropping a hand to his fringe, she scratches her nails over the silvery crest and relishes the thrumming moan around her flesh in return. She wraps her hand around the centermost crest and squeezes before stroking her hand over its length, miming what she'd do if there was a much different part of his anatomy in her grasp. He growls and tosses his head to throw off her hand, nipping his mouth plates over her erect nipple in reprimand.

She gasps and jerks a bit at that, but he doesn't stay as he moves even lower until he's between her thighs. Two strong hands lift her legs to drape her thighs over his shoulders as he purrs heavily and puffs hot breath over her wet center. Moaning, she strokes over his fringe and presses her heels slightly into his back. "Garrus…" she breathes, moaning loudly when a hot tongue swipes up her lips.

He growls as he slips that long, powerful tongue into her core and can't help her hand tightening around his fringe, loving that first slide against her walls. She feels the slender muscle curl and swirl as he pulls in and shoves back in, purring deep enough that it vibrates through their join. Clenching her eyes shut at the shocks of electricity that curl her toes and fist her free hand in the sheets, she moans loudly as her hips grind into his mouth and forces him to move his hands to her hips to hold her still as he starts to fuck her with his tongue.

He even puts his neck and shoulders into it as his whole body moves with his thrusting tongue, his head turning this way and that to change the angle on entry as he pushes deeper to stroke along that secret spot along her far wall that makes her scream in ecstasy. Her head thrashes as he continuously fucks her, shoving his tongue against that spot as his thumb snakes its way to her pulsing clit to stroke a talon teasingly over before grinding the callus of his thumb from his rifle directly over it.

That does it as Jane screams as her back arches up off the bed and her lungs burn in uncontrolled spasms. Her mate between her legs growls deeply, barely audible to her ears but she can feel the vocal vibrate up her boneless legs straight to her cunt as she clenches over and over around his still moving tongue. He undulates within her, drawing out her orgasm until the very point she can no longer stand the tight hold around her lungs and has to tug on his fringe for mercy.

He purrs roughly and licks her one last time before lifting from her center, his plates glistening in her release. Tossing her head back into the pillows, she pants and moans softly at the sight as she feels him move back over her. She watches him lick his mouth plates and mandibles with a look of satisfaction and chuckles, smirking at the imaged sight of a cat licking its whiskers. "Have fun," she asks with a raised brow.

He smirks lecherously and lowers his hips, letting her feel his hard, hot length as he rubs the underside along her labia. "What do you think?" he growls heavily, his vocals at that point where the translators can barely manage words through the thick subvocals.

Jane gasps with a soft moan with his thrusts his hips in a way that grinds his ridges along her clit and nods in the only answer she can offer. She drops her hands to his hips and nudges him up so she can reach between them. When he follows her silent command with a thrumming growl, she reaches between them and takes him in hand, guiding him home.

He slides in, lubricated from both their fluids, and they both moan in unison at that feeling like no other. Lifting her legs over his hips, she feels Garrus' hand shift to lean his weight on his forearm as he runs his talons through her hair to tangle in the red curls and moans at feeling him grip firmly. She takes his waist in hand and grips his good shoulder in the other as he starts to move, pulling out and pushing in with hard, long plunges.

He doesn't pull his punches as he goes straight for her trigger point, shoving his cock deep to ram that deep spot over and over as he growls in her ear, but she can't complain at the uncountable sensations of vocals, movement of hips, and hand in her hair. Just as she feels his tongue run up her neck and swirl around her ear, she sees a flicker of blue out of the corner of her eye and groans in frustration.  _I hate that fucking AI._

"Commander Shepard," EDI intones from her cubby in the corner. "There is an issue that deems your attention."

Growling, Garrus doesn't stop his motions. If anything, he makes it harder for her as he moves with vigor, as if trying to test her ability to properly address the damned AI while getting her brains fucked out by her husband's jackhammering. Jane moans / groans in both frustration at him not helping her  _at all_ and lust at the rough nip at her ear lobe.

" _Fuck_ …" She slams a fist against the bed and bites back her moan, forcing herself to focus so she can  _rip the damn AI's ass for its horrible sense of timing_. "What is it, EDI," she grits out between clenched teeth, lifting her hand to his fringe and giving his fringe crest a tug to match the hand in her hair. He snarls and his thrusts falter a bit before getting harder, harsher, and more rushed. Pulling her hair to tilt her head back into the pillows, she feels him run the points of his teeth over her sweaty skin.

"Operative Taylor is requesting your presence within the armory."  _Shit_. She almost forgot about the damned ship's intelligence.

"Fine. Fine. Later." She snaps before gasping and clenching her eyes shut. Moaning, she clenches around the hard piston moving in her as she arches under the plated body above her and against the keel already situated between her breasts.

"Ah, Commander."  _Jesus fucking Christ, can I not get fucked in peace?_

She hears a growl not at all of the pleasurable kind in her ear as her mate lifts his head, looking towards the direction of the pilot's voice. "Joker, get the hell off the comm or so help me," he threatens with thick vocals, all but snarling at the intercom, as his free hand fists in the sheets.

Lifting her hand from his shoulder to caress his cheek in a silent soothing, she hears the slight scoff over the comm and glares up at the ceiling at the pilot just poking the bear. Though she sees the reason why the two aren't getting along, that doesn't mean she wants them – but mostly Joker – antagonizing the other. Sooner or later this is going to come to a head and leave her with either a severely beaten or dead pilot as well as the problem of what to do with a responsible and pissed off Turian.

"Jeez, Garrus. Disarm the stick, would ya?"

Her mate growls and she lays her fingers over the front of his mouth plates. "Joker," she says, ending this now before it gets worse. "Spit it out and get off the intercom."

"You might want to head down to the Port Side Cargo. Grunt is acting all… Krogan-y."

Garrus' mandible flicks in that unamused expression akin to an eye roll as he lowers his head back to her neck. "Let someone else deal with it for once," he whispers as he moves his hips, reminding her in the most pleasurable way possible what they were currently doing.

She moans loud enough for Joker to obviously understand what's happening because he stammers, almost to the point of being undecipherable. "Uh…f-gah… I'll…" The comm shuts off frantically and Jane laughs, which turns into a drawn out moan as her mate sets his teeth to her neck and pulls her hair as he thrusts deep with force.

Throwing her head into the pillows, she screams as she climaxes from the plethora of sensation sending hot electricity up and down her spine to release the coil he has built in her belly into a blossoming explosion of pleasure. She hears the deep rumbling growl that chokes out his primary vocals' moan as she feels him pulse and harden, pumping his seed into her with a heavy jerk of his hips.

They come down with shared pants as he thrusts shallowly into the echoes of their orgasms and he lifts his face from her neck to press his flatter mouth to hers. She hums and kisses back, opening her lips to stroke her tongue with his in a languid pace. The taste of herself on his tongue makes her moan and squeeze around his embedded length in aftershocks, loving the responding moan that lifts from his throat to mingle with their shared breaths.

Pulling away for gasps of breath, Jane chuckles a bit in exhaustion and caresses her husband's spinal plates when he rests his head back into the crook of her neck. "I wonder how long I can stay up here before the crew open fire on Grunt." She yawns and scratches the back of Garrus' head, getting a rumbling purr in response and press into her hand which makes her chuckle. "I bet he's probably just snoring or something. You never know what qualifies as something 'Krogan-y'."

He sighs heavily and turns his head so his voice is not muffled in the sheets. "Might as well figure out what Jacob wants too." She feels his mouth plates nuzzle her jawline and cheek. "Honestly, Jane, do you really think it's such a good idea to tell the crew to bring you all their personal problems before we hit the Collectors? Don't you think you could have – what's the term? – 'bit of more than you can chew'?"

She chuckles and nods, rewarding him with another caress against his spinal plates. "I did it for myself, I did it for Miranda, I'm going to do it for you, so why not?" She smiles and turns to give him a soft kiss. "So long as it's within reason, I'm going to help the team get their shit together so their minds are clear and their asses are mine for this."

"That statement could be taken in an entirely different direction. And knowing you, I don't know whether to consider that a possible option you're planning for this mission or just consider it your unique form of speech." He crinkles his nose plates in what she's come to recognize as a cringe of distaste.

She laughs at both the thought and his expression. "I think you're the ass guy, Garrus." He scoffs and she laughs again, pulling his head to press her forehead to his. He purrs at that and presses back, chuckling. "Don't worry, it's just a figure of speech." She smirks, unable to resist, and adds, "Any ass play is between the two of us." He snorts with a hint of amusement in his vocals. "That does remind me, though. Have your leads led anywhere for that bastard?"

He frowns, growling, and she knows she doesn't need to elaborate as she feels his hand clench in the sheets and the one cupping her head tenses without pulling at her hair. "I may have something, but I need to check up on it, see if it's legit. Think we can make a stop at the Citadel soon?" Crystal blue eyes turn to her and, even in the low light, she can tell they are full of dark clouds from his barely contained anger for the man that betrayed him.

"Sure, I think Kasumi needed to stop by there as well for that heist thing she was planning." She can see the confusion on his plates and she shakes her head. "I'll explain once I know more, but she was vague with me too at this point. I'll set course for the Citadel once I find out what's up with Grunt and Jacob."

Jane smiles and caresses her mate's uninjured cheek, her thumb stroking his chin. Her finger grazes just a bit over the line of damaged and untouched plate, but Garrus doesn't seem to feel that slight slip as he purrs and pressing into her touch. She opens her mouth to speak when she sees the blue orb reappear in the corner.

Half sighing, half groaning in frustration, she lets her hand flop to the bed as she cuts the AI off from lecturing. "Yes, yes. Taylor see me. Grunt being pissy. I'm on it, EDI." She purses her lips and bites back the colorful language she has for the interrupting artificial intelligence. "Let me get my damn clothes on or I'm going to walk down to the CIC in the fucking nude." Her husband chuckles and lifts off her, pulling out with a shared gasp and sigh between the two of them.

"Commander, Cerberus regulations strictly forbid interactions of such nature as it can result in crewmembers becoming uncomfortable. I am programmed to assess situations such as this and respond with an advisory request you read the Cerberus Sexual Harassment handbook."

Sitting up, Jane runs a hand through her hair as much as she can and stretches. "I can give you plenty of good places to shove that handbook, EDI." She sees Garrus' head shake in amusement as he searches for his undersuit.

"While I understand the concept of this statement, it is highly unobtainable in this situation as the handbook is an electronic document and I do not possess any orifices in which such a document could be 'shoved'."

"Thank you, EDI," the clearly amused Turian manages to get out through his rumbling vocals. "Log on and let whoever is paging her that she'll be down in a bit."

"Very well. Logging you out." The orb disappears and the redhead rolls her eyes.

"Fucking titties and Christ. You'd think we were all going to die because I don't manage to wake up and head downstairs before my shift even begins." She runs fingers through her hair enough to pull it back and grabs her pants, shoving her legs into the thick, scratching material. "Go ahead and head to the Battery and do your  _calibrations_ while I pussy foot with the crew and figure out what the fuck is so important."

He nods with a rumble of understanding in his vocals as he snaps on the last of his armor. With a soft press of foreheads and a run of mouth plates over her cheek, he leaves her to get ready for the day.


	34. Chapter 34

\- Garrus -

Another return of 'Error Compiling' flashing on his terminal's screen made Garrus groan in frustration, his fists tightening around the edges of the metal console as he forces himself to take a deep breath, try to concentrate. He just couldn't seem to get his mind straight to work on the guns, not with the fact that they are currently on their way to the Citadel. Not while his mind was currently repeating over and over that there, he just might have a chance at tracking down that barefaced, traitorous 'son of a bitch' - as Jane would say.

He hears the soft 'whoosh' of sliding Battery doors followed by the two-beat footsteps of a flat foot, human most like since he'd doubt a Drell or Asari would visit. Turning his head, he flicks a mandible at the sight of his wife, arm still in a pressure bandage from her fall back on 2175 Aeia where she unceremoniously tackled a woman before being shot.

He still can't believe what they saw down on that planet, what Jacob's father had done to the people that trusted him to protect their best interests. While the initial thought to ration out their supplies for those who could repair the distress beacon and leave those nonessential crew to eat the toxic local food, what he did  _after_  was absolutely appalling.  _And I'd be in denial if I ignored the way some of those women were enlarged around their torsos and the unique scents to them - those women were carrying an altogether different kind of cargo when the Alliance picked them up._

"Damn," Jane's amused voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "You look just about how I feel." He frowns in confusion and she snorts, sitting up on the crate by the workbench against the wall. "Like you're bound to punch the first thing that looks at you funny? What's the matter? The missus not cooperating today?" She smirks and motions to the large cannon.

Garrus chuckles, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing a bit with her usual sense of levity, and shakes his head as he leans back against his console. "More like I'm unable to concentrate on running numbers the closer we get to the Citadel."

Her smile is her silent understanding as she crosses her arms as best as she can with the cumbersome wrappings. "I take it you have a plan on following the breadcrumbs?"

"The what?"

She laughs at his confusion and stands up, moving to his side. "Human saying…" She shakes her head and mirrors his lean. "I mean, you have an idea of how to follow Sidonis' trail."

He growls a bit at the mention of the man's name, his mandible growing tight as he nods. "He disappears at the Citadel, but it makes sense as the best place to start." She quirks a brow and he stands, wiling to explain. "The bastard is looking to disappear and since he was never any good at cheating the system, he's going to be going to someone who can forge a new identity for him. What better place to find the best of the best in forging ID's than the biggest station in Council space?"

"How do you figure?" she asks, frowning. "Knew people in C-Sec or something?"

"No," he answers with a shake of his head. "It's just logical. If you are wanting to hide, wouldn't you go to someone who boasts the ability for you to hide in plain sight?"

Jane's face lights up in understanding and she nods softly, her expression surprised. "Holy shit… yeah. What would be the point of being on the run in some desolate shit hole if you can find someone good enough to hide you amongst the billions on the Citadel?" She shakes her head with a curve to her lips, as if sharing in his own bit of excitement at the possibility of being one step closer to his target. After a moment, her green eyes look up to his and her smile softens. "I take it you want to see if any of your C-Sec contacts still hold water?"

"I was thinking of calling in on an old friend," he admits. "I'd think he'd owe us at least the direction towards the best forgers after we got him his nice promotion."

"No shit?" Her brows lift in interest. "Chellick's respectable now?"

Chuckling, he flicks his mandible in exasperation. "Right, because being head detective wasn't prestigious enough." She shrugs, unconvinced, and smiles with a cross of her arms in silent offer for him to continue. "Decian was promoted after taking out that weapons ring we helped him with and, during the past two years, he apparently became Captain of the precinct on Shalta."

His mate makes a high whistle noise that makes him flinch and the cybernetics in his right ear erupt in static. Seeing his immediate discomfort, she cuts off the high-pitched noise with her lips and frowns apologetically. "Sorry about that."

Shaking to get the ringing out of his ears, he quirks a brow plate once he can finally hear his thoughts again. "What the hell was that?"

She shrugs. "It was a whistle. Humans do it when they're impressed-"

"Or when they're trying to deafen their Turian husbands."

"-but I forgot that you hate it so much," she adds with a narrow of her eyes in mock irritation at being interrupted. "So you're basically saying that he owes us for his nice, swanky job?" Garrus answers with a shrug, not knowing if his once good friend and partner would think his hard-earned position at the top of the Ward's precinct was worth helping a former Spectre and now vigilante. "Well, I'm willing to go on a 'maybe' shrug," she says with a smirk as she nudges him a bit with her booted foot. "I knew coming in here was a good idea."

Garrus snorts with a flick of his mandible. "Like you'd ever question the chance to visit your dashing mate in his tedious work schedule." She laughs and he can't help the pleased hum at seeing whatever had been bothering her when she entered dissipate just a bit. "I take it you needed somewhere to 'vent' – as you call it?"

"You mean 'rip ass' – as you call it?" He is about to correct her on the fact that he's never said anything of the sort when she waves him off with a chuckle. "If you're  _so_  curious, yes, I needed to get away from… all of  _that_." She waves at the Battery doors, most likely motioning beyond.

Humming in understanding, he nods and moves to relax beside her, setting in for the long haul as usually goes when dealing with the issues on the ship. "Let's hear it." He smirks at her and figures that perhaps occupying his mind with something not concerning his task at the Citadel, and yet also not entailing possibly messing up important numbers that could get them all blown to pieces in a firefight, might do him some good to calm down.

The red head sighs and closes her eyes, leaning her head back onto her shoulders. "Turns out we found out who sent that info on Jacob's dad to his inbox… and it wasn't the Illusive Prick." She drops her head and opens her eyes to glare at the door. "It was Miranda… Some stupid ex-lover's quarrel or some shit. I don't know and I don't really care. The problem was Jacob going all gung-ho on the Illusive Asshole."

Her cheeks puff out a spilt second before she puffs a breath out of her lips. "The bastard had the audacity to question me on doing all this for my crew." Her brows lower and she stands quickly, spinning and starting to pace as she tends to do when upset. "'They are professionals, Shepard'," she mimics with a scowl. "Fucking bastard thought I'm doing this for shits and giggles. It's not like I'm going to sit around with my thumb up my ass! Give me somewhere to go after the Collectors and I'll drop everything and go." She turns on him and he can't hide the flicker of his mandible, loving how she gets flustered – or at least whenever she's not angry with  _him_. "But you can't argue with fucking stupid, Garrus, and that man is the epitome of idiotic logic."

"So what are you going to do?" She throws her arms up, making him chuckle at her exasperation, but understanding completely as it feels almost like his work back at C-Sec of being in an endless loop of never being able to do just what everyone expects even when it makes no damn sense.

People expect you to be doing what  _they_  think is best for  _your_  job, but they have no clue of what it takes to do it right. If his life as Archangel taught him a single thing, it is that Jane knows what's she's doing by breaking down the walls of her team. A suicide mission is much less daunting when people have something to look forward to coming out to and those around them to help carry them through. He won't his mistake fall to his mate if he can help it, even if it means influencing her to get even deeper into the Illusive Man's bad side.

"Jane," he says with a rumble as he lifts her chin to look at him. Her frown is still set deep in her brows and he shifts his hand to cup her cheek, letting the warmth of his gloved palm soothe her distress. "Listen to me, not as your mate, but as a fellow soldier offering insight." She opens her mouth, her eyes flicking over his in concern, but he stops her with a stroke of his thumb over her bottom lip. "I'm not going to lie about our chances going into this fight, but I can tell you that what you're doing  _will_  make a difference. It happened before when we were fighting Saren and it has already started to happen here. They will follow you."

"But I-"

He rumbles and lowers his head to hers, trying to make her understand without having to admit his failures on Omega. "Trust me, Jane. Learn from my mistake of not being there."

He can't force himself to admit the rest of what he's thinking – of how, if he had took the effort to know his men more, to be the Turian behind the idol they all followed, maybe they wouldn't be aimless ashes in the Omega winds. There's no telling if it would have made a difference, and part of him still wants to use the argument that he wasn't entirely responsible as he was trying to end his own life not take others with him, but perhaps the two of them could learn from his mistakes. Whether or not this mission ends up as hopelessly suicidal as the Cerberus logistics seem to make it, they certainly won't fail for lack of confidence in their leader's abilities to instill in them the courage and trust they all will need in both themselves and each other.

Delicate - even for a soldier - hands caress his face as his wife smiles warmly, her eyes speaking of unspoken understanding of what he can't put to words just yet. "You say the nicest things," she purrs as she flutters her lashes, quickly lightening the mood that seemed to settle around them and falling into that easy banter they seem to be able to pull off anywhere, no matter the serious situation they have fallen into.

He chuckles and lets her go with a shrug. "What can I say? It's the voice." Jane laughs and her cheeks tint just a shade pinker in her special tell that  _something_  about his statement is truer than she'd care to admit, making him smile in return.

"Alright, smooth talker, I got to go check up on Kasumi to see what the hell she wants with my dress size." He lifts a brow plate and his wife shakes her head in a silent 'don't ask'. "Honestly, I have no clue, Garrus. I'm just chalking it down to curiosity, but I'm thinking it has to do with whatever job she wants me to help her with because she actually wants the okay to leave the dock to go 'shopping for something nice', as she put it."

"Her requirement for working with us involves you in a dress? Just what kind of weird-"

"Nope," she interrupts with a raised hand. "I'm done with trying to guess what's going to happen when we help out the crew after the whole 'my twin is really my baby sister and my dad touched me in my private places, but I refuse to admit that, so that's why I kidnapped my own sister' and 'my dad is some megalomaniac that used women with the minds of children as toys and tried to single handedly populate a planet of crazy-people making plants'." He closes his mouth and nods in agreement of the truly appalling things they've just barely begun to see concerning their crewmate's lives. She sighs and moves to the door of the Battery, stopping just before the sensor can open as he tightens his hold on her hand. A red brow raises in silent question.

"I was thinking," he begins, trying to figure out how to word his plan in the right way. "That maybe I should go to Chellick's office on my own." Her expression drops in confusion, making him shake his head as he moves closer to her, cupping her chin with his other hand. "It's not that I don't want you in on this, but I think that it'll be better if I go alone to ask for this favor."

"I don't understand… I thought you wanted help finding this bastard?" Brows furrow in confusion and mild hurt and he rumbles in attempt to make her understand.

"No, it's not like that. It's just that I don't want him to see you there and think he can use you like he did two years ago. Understand that I have no problem with you being in on this," he says, shifting his hand to cup her cheek in a show of his sincerity and her lips quirk a bit, her face tilting just so into his palm. "In fact, there's no one else I'd want with me when we finally find Sidonis." He growls at the thought of the man. "But I know Decian, he's not so much selfish as he is opportunistic and the last time we asked a favor from him when it came to that human woman in his case, he made us complete a buy."

"And you think he'd do the same now?" Jane adds, her mind working out what he's getting at behind her emerald eyes.

"I think he'd see more opportunity there with you than he would with just me. You're still a Spectre for most, even though you refused the title, and he might see a better chance with you than he would a scarred vigilante that he once mentored."

She frowns and grabs his wrist at her cheek. "You sure? I mean, if you're doing this because I complained about the huge requisitions shipment last night, I don't have to be here for that myself. I can make Miranda do it, she likes that kind of stuff."

He chuckles at her smirk at the thought of dumping the tedious job of cataloging the incoming supplies during their restock on the other woman and shakes his head, dropping to press his forehead to hers before releasing her. "I'm sure. If I know the man, then he'd be more willing to make a deal with me if I go alone then if you join. Plus," he adds with a purr, his vocals dipping lower to the register that never fails to make the nearly invisible little hairs all over her body stand on end. "The sooner we get done with our own errands, the sooner we can come back to the Loft and enjoy the rest of this impromptu shore leave."

Her lips curve up in a smirk and her eyes speak of just what she'd like to do with the remaining time. "Well, I guess it's not like you're going out to hunt out anything beyond info today, right?" Flicking his good mandible in amusement, he nods in answer. "Then I guess I can let you out of my sights for a couple of hours."

He smiles as he watches her take her leave, her hips swaying as she throws a heated glance over her shoulder that makes him growl in response. When the doors close, he sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead plates in frustration. He knows full-well that his once good friend won't be as naïve to believe she isn't in some way connected to this personal vendetta of his, but he just hopes the older man wouldn't use her as a tool to gain something for himself, he's seen that enough from nearly everyone else in this damn universe.

Even he is asking something of her in making her aid him in finding Sidonis and make him pay for his betrayal, but he has no choice. It's either that or go it alone and he sure as hell knows she'd never let him do this by himself, and a small part of him  _wants_  her by his side in this, so it as if he is choosing between the 'lesser of two evils'.

Still, that doesn't mean he wants the older Turian to see the former Spectre and demand a return for the information on whatever identity dealer could be responsible for letting his former second-in-command slip into the shadows. He also wouldn't blame the man for seeing the opportunity in Jane's involvement – hell, he'd use the chance too if he were in the same position – but if he goes alone, maybe he can appeal to his once-friend, if that even means anything anymore. If all else fails, if his friendship holds no importance after so long, then he'd consider letting his wife in on the negotiations, but only as a last resort.

 _How much could a man want for just a name of a forger?_  He questions as he snaps on his armor, getting ready to disembark as the Artificial Intelligence announces ship-wide of their arrival on the large space station.  _Perhaps I'm just overthinking this, though who could blame me after all the recent experiences with so-called 'friendships' Jane and I have had lately?_

He leaves the ship as soon as they are granted access to the station and heads for the nearest transport to hail a skycar for the Shalta Ward. Inputting the coordinates for the area's C-Sec headquarters, he sits back into his seat for the ride, his beaten and battered Archangel armor creaking and wedging a bit in the cramped space.

When he arrives, his scarred face and charred heavy armor gets him attention immediately, but one look at the vivid blue so rare off Palaven across his cheeks and mandibles – even have destroyed and fading – stop even the most seasoned officers from approaching directly and demanding he state his business. It's all the same to him, he doesn't need to explain himself to every officer that thinks to stand in his way and try out any intimidation tactics, as he ignores the pointed looks from paints to scars and approaches the nearest officer seating at their desk, nose deep in datapads.

"Excuse me," he says with a blank expression, though he's sure the human detective wouldn't have been able to read him anyways, and motions towards the far doors labeled 'Captain Chellick'. "Would you let your Captain know that an old friend is requesting a moment at his earliest convenience?"

The man's jaw drops at the huge Turian standing over his desk, eyes taking in the visage of what would probably seem more at place down in the cells a handful of levels down and not here in the middle of the most densely populated area of officers – let alone the floor the Captain, himself, calls 'home'. "Uh… sure." Standing, he takes a moment to the back before stopping and turning back, realizing the slight breach in protocol. "Wait… who are you?"

"Garrus?!" Heads all swivel towards the far wall, mummers and voices cutting off immediately at the sight of Captain Decian Chellick just within the threshold of his now-open office. His eyes are widened just enough that Garrus can tell even from this distance that the older man never expected to see his face ever again, let alone in the state it is, but Chellick's mandibles quickly tighten in professionalism as he addresses his men. "Back to work, all of you. Vakarian, in my office."

Garrus is sure to make contact with any lingering eyes as he walks the silently still office of C-Sec blues and can't help the slight flicker to his mandible in amusement at the fact that many drop their eyes instantly.  _While I won't doubt the intimidation factor of Archangel in full gear, these men and women really need to work on their 'poker faces' – as the human's call it._

When he arrives to the large and prestigious office of his former colleague, Chellick keys the doors to lock before turning to the younger man. He stops immediately at the sight of Garrus, his vocals revealing themselves with a low grunt of shock. "Spirits, Garrus," he barely whispers, his green eyes wide as they flow over his bandaged face and down his chest plate. "What happened to you?!" He blinks a bit to retake his harmonics and finally looks into his ex-partner's eyes. "I had thought you were dead, though I guess I wasn't far off."

Garrus huffs a laugh lacking humor and nods in understanding. "You don't need specifics, I'm sure, but this is nothing. Looks worse than it is."

"I doubt that," the man says with a hum, but doesn't say more and Garrus is sure he, of all people considering the older man's involvement with his personal life, would understand why he would have dropped off the map and chose to leave it all behind. After all, Chellick was the only one beyond himself and Jane to know of their relationship since the beginning, so he appreciates the silent agreement to drop the subject before digging too deep into old wounds.

Seeing the other man offer a hand to a seat, Garrus follows Decian to his desk and seats himself on the edge of the soft seat, making sure not to wedge his armor into the cushions where he wouldn't be able to get back out. "I…" he starts, unsure how to broach such a topic after two years of complete silence between them. "I didn't come for small talk, Decian."

"No, I had assumed not." Green eyes lock on him, the man's 'detective face', as he hums in thought, crossing his hands on his desk. "You came to ask for a favor," he raises a hand to silence Garrus' explanation, "and while I would be willing to consider it, I know you. You have a way of making things messy, Garrus. You  _and_  your mate."

Flinching at his every effort to keep her out of this going out the window before he could even make his request, Garrus growls a bit and shakes his head. "This doesn't have anything to do with her."

"Yes, it does. Everything with you has to do with her." Sighing, the man rubs his temple with his hand. "I don't even need to know what you're going to ask to know that it won't end well. You aren't just going to come ask me for information or help without it turning into a giant disaster." His vocals rumbling in exhaustion that Garrus often remembers from his days just barely starting in Investigations where the detective would often have to reprimand his more impulsive behaviors. "If it comes back in any way, I could lose my job, Garrus."

"But you won't." A pale brow plate rises above a green eye as he drops his hand to get a better look at Garrus' determination. "It may have been two years since you've last seen me, but I still know how C-Sec works. I'm asking for names, a direction, not access to case files or anything I couldn't find on my own. You couldn't be connected unless one of us openly admits to ever meeting for anything beyond two friends 'touching base' after two years." He stands. "But I understand if you don't want to help because you're right and I'm not going to apologize for that. I will stop at nothing to find the person I need, Chellick."

"Wait," Decian calls as Garrus just makes it to the door and stands, moving around his desk. His face is pulled tight as he approaches, laying his hand on the younger Turian's shoulder. His pale eyes cover the damage over the silvery plates once more before he squeezes the shoulder in his hand. "I will help you." He frowns. "What are you asking of me?"

Surprised, Garrus is speechless for a moment, unable to believe that the once-stern and 'by the book' man would consider helping him after just admitting his fears for his own job. For as long as he's known the former detective, his job was his life, and to see him offering to put that aside – and without first demanding payment, no less – is something he'd never thought he'd see. "I," he starts, stopping to force his voice to flatten out from the rush of harmonics at the possibility that, yes, he might be getting closer to Sidonis, closer to his target. "I need to know who someone would go to to get the best identity credentials money can buy here on the station."

"That'd probably be the freelancer that works with the Blue Suns," Chellick offers after a moment of thought, turning back to his desk with his hands clasping behind his back. "But there's the problem, the Blue Suns run their businesses tight. Even freelancers not directly associated with their organization are covered by their legal protection. C-Sec hasn't gotten anywhere beyond a name for this forger."

"That's good enough for me to start. What's his alias?" He can barely control his speeding heart, his fists clenching hard enough to send spikes of pain up to his healing shoulder, but the adrenaline is better than any pain killer. He can practically smell the scent of this lead and feel the thrill he has craved more than the artificial stims that burn in his veins.

"Fade, but if C-Sec hasn't nailed him down, I don't think you will."

His good mandible flares out as Archangel flares to life in his eyes at the thought of the hunt. "Don't worry about that. I've learned a few things over the years." His only response from the older man is a hum as if Chellick knows all too well what lays in store for anyone that stands in this newer version of Garrus Vakarian's way.

"Appreciate the lead, Decian," he says as he turns to leave, standing just in the threshold of the door way before glancing back. "Let me know if anything comes to your attention. I owe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a companion piece to this chapter that is from Chellick's view! 
> 
> Feel free to check Palliative out! :)


	35. Chapter 35

-Jane-

"So let me see if I get this straight," she says with a smirk and leans back against the cool elevator wall as they ride the lift down to the Crew Deck for breakfast before disembarking from the Citadel. "With the name you got yesterday, you're going to play the helpless criminal looking to disappear by the 'best of the best'?"

Her husband chuckles. "More or less, yeah. I still have a few alias from Omega to use through the channels, so this Fade or anyone who can lead me to him won't necessarily know it's Archangel looking for them."

"Yeah?" A red brow lifts in interest at that. "How you going to do that?"

A flick of his mandible as he smirks with a rumble at some inner bit of amusement. "You think all my aliases are justice hungry vigilantes? There are a handful of crime lords from Omega that don't really have any need for their names, anymore, so I just 'use' them from time to time."

That was interesting. To think Garrus practically played both sides by 'keeping someone alive' in case he needed info or connections he couldn't gain as the one killing everybody was definitely devious, skilled, and even a little hot. Almost as if he took what he learned from C-Sec and twisted it to fit his life in the shadows of Omega. She can't blame him and she certainly wouldn't want to be on the opposite end of one of his vendettas.

"Damn, Garrus," She smirks as she gets up from the cool wall, approaching him as the surface beneath her feet slows upon their destination. "That's all sorts of devious, genius, intimidating," She runs her hand up his armored chest, along the hard blue metal, "and incredibly sexy."

That gets her a heated look, the chest below her hand just barely vibrating with a growl. "Good to know I have your approval."

Part of her wants to push him back up against the wall, slam a fist against the commands to take them back up to her cabin, and show him just how  _approving_  she is, but the soft click-swish of the doors at her back remind her that they have duties. Playtime only lasts from end of shift until beginning of the next, never more for sake of some semblance of professionalism. Sure, there are a few times where they catch a break amongst the hours of work, but they at least have to offer the  _effort_  before earning the  _reward_.

As if reading her thoughts, he leans forward just enough, dropping his leg just enough to lower without her having to raise on her toes due to his height, and presses his forehead to hers as he covers her hand with his own. The embrace is short, the two lovers pulling away just a moment after they touch, but the words are there in their actions.  _I'll be thinking of you, of this, until we can see each other again._

"Better see to your adorning public, Commander," Garrus drawls with a smirk as they hear a loud uproar of mixed laughter and groans of exasperation from the Mess. "Sounds like the whole crew is in attendance."

"Wonderful," she deadpans. "I guess I'm eating ration bars this morning." He chuckles as the exit the lift. "I would've been on time if  _someone_  hadn't insisted on another round in the shower."

"Didn't hear you complaining."

Her retort is cut short as they round the corner to the boisterous laughter and bellows of most of her crew as McKnight and Donnelly seem to be acting out some movie or another they've seen as they twist their voices into imitations that have everyone either rolling their eyes in amusement, smiling, or bursting into guffaws.

Jane raises a brow with a smirk, never believing unless she saw it with her own eyes that this mashed together crew would be as open. Sure, the first Normandy was able to fall into a similar family as this one, but that was different, they didn't have the cloud of 'human terrorists' hovering over their heads and, of course, there was still a tension between conflicting personalities that may never mend. However, even Jack was present, if not enjoying herself than at least  _attempting_.  _Fake it until you make it, as they say._

Her inner musings are cut short when she sees Tali approaching, carrying a covered plate, and her green eyes widen in hope, her stomach making its own views on the possibility of who that plate belongs to known with a pain twist to remind her of its angry emptiness. The Quarian's eyes are little white crescents, the young woman's own version of a smile so synonymous from their days on the SR1, as she hands the plate over to a shocked, and starving, Commander.

"Here you go, Shepard. I had Gardner save you a plate since you were  _preoccupied_." She gives a pointed look to the tall Turian at Jane's side and his armor creaks as he shrugs, unmoved by the implied disapproval. Tali's head rolls slightly in exasperation, but leaves it at that with a slight chuckle, better to just leave the two at that before either decides to turn the teasing back on the more sensitive young Quarian.

 _Thank God, Spirits, Goddess, Ancestors, or whatever the hell is listening,_  Jane thinks as she picks up the edge of the foil covering, taking a deep breath of the steamy that pillows out. She hasn't eaten since lunch the day before and, even then, it was nothing more than a tasteless protein bar as she worked through cataloging incoming shipments for the ship so she could be available to enjoy at least a handful of hours of peace once Garrus was done catching up with Chellick. This food, even though Gardner's cooking could be debatably be called 'edible', was like heaven and she had to bite back the wanton moan trying to break out of her lips.  _And I'm definitely ignoring that knowing smug on that silvery asshole's face because I am not, under any circumstances, admitting he was right last night when he said I should eat before the 'activities'._

Just as she's about to rip into him, demand he either shut that low chuckle the hell up _or so help me_ , the food is tugged from her hands, the mere fact that someone would even  _think_  to get in the way of her starving stomach and food enough to give them an upper hand. She chokes out a noise of startled shock and blinks in complete loss at what was once the most glorious plate of reconstituted eggs she's ever seen since yesterday's choked down breakfast.

"Uh, huh, Shep." A glimmer before her stunned eyes reveals the smiling thief, Kasumi. "We can't have you bloated from disgusting ship eggs before your big party."

Jane reaches for the plate, her mouth dropping in utter loss for words as the hooded woman plops the plate on the table, and her fingers grasp uselessly in the air as she watches her 'eggs' be immediately engulfed by the ship's resident Krogan. Her hands fist as she glares at the woman, receiving only a smile and shrug as Zaeed's amusement rings loud and clear through the crowded Mess.

"You're bloody insane, woman," he shouts through his laughter, shoving a finger around his glass of what Jane's sure is something most likely spiked with some liquor or another if she knows the man. "No one ever takes food out of Shepard's soddin' mouth."

Jack snorts and shoves the old, raunchy mercenary. "Yeah, bitch can put away the calories!"

"That's Commander Bitch, to you," Jane corrects, turning her glare onto the two who find this so hilarious, but her anger falters when a glass of something thick and not at all appetizing looking is held out to her by the slender Asian. "What the fuck is that supposed to be?"

Goto nudges her crossed arms, making her relax and take the glass or risk getting the weird smelling shit all over her civvies. "It'll help keep you full without bloating you. You want to look nice in your dress, don't you?"

"Whoa, the Captain is going to wear a dress?" McKnight puts down his apparent 'sword' as his attention turns to the conversation with a smile. "What's the occasion?"

"Your funerals."  _Mutiny, I swear. All of them, out the damned airlock and out of my hair._

"Now, Shepard," Miranda stands from her mug of steaming liquid – tea, by the lighter color – and offers her seat, which leaves Jane raising a suspicious brow. "That shake isn't that bad. I've had many on occasion."

"Would explain how you manage to pour yourself into that outfit," the redhead huffs, gaining a few chuckles from the unintimidated crew and an exasperated eye roll from the raven haired Operative. "I'm not drinking my food in a slush…Besides, this is green!" She sticks out her tongue and that actually gets a raised laugh, her crew taking enjoyment in seeing their Commander brought down like a toddler to vegetables.  _Mutiny! Think I could fly a ship on my own?_

Kasumi, still not moving from before Jane, which is a surprise considering this is the longest time she's ever been uncloaked before, rolls her head with a sigh. "Oh, quit being a baby." She taps a finger against the bottom of the glass in silent command. "Drink this so we can get started on prettying you up."

Barks of laughter go unnoticed as Jane's eyes narrow around her sip of thick nutrient shake -  _huh, not too bad, but still not_ ** _good_**  - and she slowly lowers the glass from her lips, swallowing slowly. "And just what makes you think it'll take all day to 'pretty me up'?" Snorts from her crew. "You don't think I can pull off a dress?"

Lawson's boots approach as she lays a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "No offense, Shepard, but the most feminine I've ever seen you was when you were sleeping." Jane scoffs and the other woman chuckles. "It's true."

"Right. So we need all day to make you passable." Goto's insistent hands nudge the glass again.

Forcing another gulp of drink to appease the nagging woman, Jane shakes her head, trying to defend herself and her apparent lack of poise and elegance in the eyes of her crew. "Hey, I know how to be a lady. I know how to wear a dress, I can put on makeup." She looks to her husband, who's trying his best to hold back his laughter and earn his place in the airlock with the rest. "Garrus, tell them!"

Miranda's shake of her ebony hair has him shutting his mouth, cutting off whatever smart assed remark and condemning himself to Jane's wrath. "He's a Turian, Shepard. He doesn't know human beauty standards." He shrugs at that, admitting the truth in that statement. "Plus, he's obligated to agree with everything you say-"

"'Cause he whipped!" Jack yells, her hand cupping her lips as if she needs the added echo in the cramped Mess. Lawson rubs a hand over her face in exasperation as she sighs.

"Point is, we've seen you around the ship." She lifts a brow, crossing her arms. "And you  _do_  know that the way you often sit is not becoming of a woman. Especially if you're going to be wearing a dress."

"What?!" she retorts, in mock shock. "You mean sprawling out with knees spread isn't the way? I was going for seductive." She holds a hand to her chest in mock hurt at the discovery. "Now you're going to tell me that guys don't like it when you just glob on the lipstick and eye shadow." Wide eyes turn to her husband and he rumbles at her, smirking in sharing her amusement.

A bark of laughter from the tables at the imagery and Lawson's jaw drops. "You can't be serious."

Just to show how 'serious' she is, Jane sighs exaggeratedly and throws a hand to her forehead, the smoother surface of the back pressing lightly to her forehead. "You don't know how haud it is being a woeman," she says, making her voice as close to a 'innocent, Southern Belle' as she can from what she remembers in the movies. "How will I eva live up to your ex-poctations of 'pretty'? Oh! I thank I'm gettin' tha vapors."

Unable to hold back, she joins the laughs in the room at Lawson's frustration, the woman just too easy to rile up. If she were honest, she would admit that Miranda has gotten much softer and easier to joke with after being able to help her sister and it's a nice chance, one she can hope for all the crew once they are able to take care of whatever it is that seems to be holding their minds away from the mission. However, she knows when patient is running thin, so she smiles and nods in silent agreement.

"Alright, alright. Let me have my weird shake thing in peace and then you can gussy me up all you want." The hooded figure nods before sparking out into nothing, most likely to melt back into the shadows. "Besides, we aren't in that much of a hurry. We need to be there tonight and the Normandy can make it there in an hour, tops."

"Ah," Joker's voice intones over the intercom, a hint of wariness in his tone. "Actually, that might not be possible, Commander."

"Explain." All humor dissipates as faces look up, ears open to hear what has the pilot concerned.

"Well, you see…"

"What Mr. Moreau is trying to say is that the Illusive Man has grounded the Normandy through my systems," EDI offers, making Jane's mind go blank at just what the fuck that's supposed to mean and Miranda's usual flawless expression drops to one of surprise.

After a moment, the Commander is able to regain control of herself and she puts her glass down on the table hard enough that she's sure it would've shattered if it wasn't the usual plastic of most ship ware. "What the fuck?! The prick locked us here?" She stomps towards the blue hologram of the AI. "What the fuck for?!"

"I do not have record of reasoning behind the Illusive Man's actions."

Turning to Miranda, the woman being the only one on this ship that could provide insight – even if her reaction proves she most likely had nothing to do with it personally – Jane lowers her tone to a barely concealed growl. "Why would he lock us on the Citadel? Is he trying to prove something? Waving his dick in my face?"

"I… I don't know." Lawson moves to her office, her eyes alight with trying to find reason in the confusion and Jane sees Garrus flick his mandible as he looks over the distance, his eyes considering.

"You think this was about yesterday? About you arguing with him about the crew?" Faces turn to her and she sighs in realization that he's right, there's no other explanation. This is just the Illusive Man showing her who's the boss.  _Do what I think is right or I will make your life hell._

"God dammit," she breathes, running a hand over her hair. "EDI, open a comm to Miranda's room so I can talk to her." Pausing, she waits for the soft click of connection and the woman's questioning in her address of 'Commander'. "Lawson, slight change of plans. Kasumi, can you find a charter to take us to Bekenstein in time?"

The thief flickers into view. "Of course. I can even get a big enough shuttle to transport our 'cargo'. Just need to borrow some crew to pilot it."

Jane nods as the woman disappears. "Good, get whoever you need to pilot and move what you need. Charge the Cerberus account. That'll teach the bastard." She turns her head up the ceiling, as if directing her attention to the Operative in her office. "Miranda, as much as I hate to say it, contact the Illusive Man and see what hair is up his fucking ass. Odds are he wants something from me, some fucking errand to run that's not the Collectors, and I told him no and he's acting pissy about it." Frowning in irritation, she looks to her crew, curious to see this entire scene unfold. "The rest of you, I'm not saying this is leave, but you are free to travel this level of the Ward. Open communications and be ready to ship out the moment I return back to the Citadel. Understood?"

If she weren't on the verge of punching her fist through the nearest thing with a Cerberus logo, she'd be able to admire the unique form of attention and understanding 'salutes' she receives from her remaining crew. Many are, and never were, soldiers, but they all can show respect in their own way if she intimidates them enough or ends up, God fucking willing, getting them into any semblance of order. She won't complain with what she has, though, as they all at least know when the fun is over as they each finish their meals, disposing of their food when done to leave for their posts, or turning to their plates and offering some quiet for their Commander to think.

V.v.V.v.V

 _Power supply, down. Barrier's down. Now just for the voice passcode, the pass phrase, and the… egh, DNA sample._  Jane cringes a bit at the thought, masking her slip of distaste by tilting her head to examine her necklace, fiddling with the pendant to center it properly between her dress' collar.

So far, they've slipped in without incident. Unless, of course, if they were to count that almost fiasco at the door with both their statue check -  _what the hell this woman is thinking with me and using a statue of fucking Saren, I'll never know_  - and, the more concerning, suspicion Hock had towards Kasumi when she just walked right up to the front door.

Jane wasn't one to question people's methods, but it seems like the thief is playing this a little too loose for her liking, especially considering she only has pistol concealed against her thigh and a scrap of leather as any kind of protection.  _Makes me wonder if Garrus wasn't right in trying to rip me a new one on the charter transport over here. Well, at least he's on the extraction shuttle should everything go ass end to the sky._

She sighs and pushes the strand of hair off her face, silently cursing Miranda for the annoying up-do. While she's used to letting her hair down on occasion, it's when she's in the mindset of 'off duty', so the stray strands don't seem to cause such irritation as they are now while her brain keeps repeating,  _I'm working, why the hell this is fucking hair in my face?!_

She did admit, though, that she cleaned up well, despite how horrible vain that sounded. With loosely pulled up hair, black leather dress that was just short enough to tease, heels that would look at home in her stripper years, and sultry makeup that had even some of the pompous assholes here seeing the woman and not the glowing scars, it was hard to imagine she couldn't pull this off with some degree of success.

And she'd be lying if that  _look_  her husband gave her when she stepped out of Miranda's office wasn't even more of an incentive to play the part, to act the seductive mercenary leader Alison Gunn. It was always easier to act like one ruled the world if they could think back to that burning desire in those crystal blues.

"We should see if we can get into Hock's private quarters," a low voice says in her ear, though she's sure the thief herself is far from her actual location mingling about with the party guests. "Do you want to try the balcony entrance?"

 _And what? Fall on my ass by trying to climb in heels that can kill a man? Damn, woman, I can swing around a pole in them, not scale the side of a building._  Her thoughts are only heard in her head, though, as she holds back from looking like she's talking to herself and instead moves with the intent of finding another way.

She hears the soft hum on intrigue over her earpiece as she's sure Kasumi is watching her move towards the private quarter's entrance, approaching the armored guard with a playful curl to her red-stained lips. Ignoring the blatant up-down of his eyes, she sways her hips a bit as she stops at his raised hand, the man apparently finding his sense of duty last-minute. "Sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Hock's private rooms are off-limits to guests without security clearance."

Smirking, as if in on something this poor fool isn't, she looks back over her shoulder, throwing a coy glance towards the host currently surrounded by guests. "Donovan and I were, well," she assures with a knowing twitch of her lips as she makes a show of brushing a loose curl of hair from her shoulder and neck. "I just thought I'd head up first to  _freshen up_."

The man's lips tighten for a moment before he breathes through his nose a moment before she hears a slight mumble of a curse as he fidgets in place. "Look, miss. Hock knows the procedure for this." He seems aggravated, as if this kind of thing happens all the time, only to come back and bite him in the ass – or maybe because he doesn't get reprimanded so much as he's left to watch the various  _guests_  pass through to his boss's quarters. "You're not getting in until I hear from my commanding officer."

Jane's expression brightens and she gasps with a hand to her collar, as if remembering – though, that's not too far from the truth now that she remembers that left behind datapad between some of the guards that spoke of constantly rotating duty rosters and the current Chief in charge for this party. "Miss Roe, right? Chief was it?" She receives a frown and nod, making her roll her eyes to the ceiling in self-reprimand as she touches her fingers to her necklace lower on her sternum, knowing what will come of her 'slip of attention'. "Here I am mixing up protocol. Chief Roe knows about my  _visit_  if you'd like to make sure."

If she were to be honest, the idea of changing crew rosters so frequently that most guards don't know who they're working with or order most times is a recipe for disaster. A disaster that they will have no qualms about exploiting as it seems that most armed guards working here, including this man it seems by his confused expression at the mention of his supposed commanding officer, don't actually know anyone past their names and titles.

Dropping her eyes from the ceiling to catch him quickly look up from her cleavage, she smirks and lifts a brow in silent question. He stutters a bit, trying to remember what he was doing. "Ah, sure. Okay." His hand falls a little from his comm before snapping back up. "Chief Roe? Samuels. Have you given access authorization to Mister Hock's –ehm- private quarters?"

Jane pretends to not be able to hear the Goto's voice as she imitates this faceless Roe as she flippantly assures the access and cuts him off before he can respond. Good idea to limit time for suspicion, even better for them that this supposed Roe is such a bitch according to this off-brand of Eclipse mercenaries' gossiping emails. When his eyes lift to hers, she smiles in silent expectation as he clears his throat.

"Um… okay," he says, wearily as if a child just reprimanded for having his hand in the cookie jar, and opens his Omni-Tool, opening the door. "You are clear, ma'am. Enjoy the party."

Chuckling, she lets her hand stroke over the black, cold metal of his shoulder guard as she passes just within his personal space, throwing a flirty 'thanks' over her shoulder just as the doors seal at her back. Once alone behind the private doors, she rolls her eyes and sighs. "Jesus fucking Christ," she huffs under her breath at the sheer ridiculousness of masculine stupidity at the sight of tits and how easy it was to pull such an unconvincing ploy over the idiot's head.

"Wow, Shep." Kasumi materializes with a knowing smile on her striped lips. "I was afraid he was about to have a nose bleed right there when you starting playing with your necklace."

Jane laughs. "What can I say? I can't help using the fact that men think their dicks." She smirks and motions to herself. "Who'd think I clean up so well?"

The hooded woman shakes her head, but the quirk to her lips slips past before they both fall serious enough for the task at hand. "You try that room and I'll take this one." She motions to two large doors on each end of a long hall that each have a green access panel. "Look for anything we can get usable DNA from. Let's just be quick before someone comes looking for us."

The redhead nods in agreement and moves to her destination, understanding the slight tension in Kasumi's features as she fades under her cloak. She didn't know until this afternoon the real reason why this 'graybox' was so important, even if the young woman wouldn't admit it aloud. This piece of tech was more than a vital piece of information that Jane could use, it was the last memories of a life that meant the world to the young thief. It didn't take explanation to see in this effort to retrieve that her own efforts to regain that which she thought lost from her own relationship with her bondmate when she had died.

With a last look at her squad mate, she enters the large bedroom/study combination that must be Hock's main room with renewed vigor. Looking around the room, she starts to look for things that would have any sort of DNA on it, pointedly avoiding the more obvious 'no's' in hopes she doesn't learn something horribly revealing about this man. Hoping to have found a possible hit on a low table, she picks up a hairbrush, examining it to see the slight shimmer of stray hairs tangled in the bristles.

 _I do_ ** _not_** _want to know if there's DNA on weird shit like the fucking plant or vid screen remote, so please, please offer me something, hairbrush,_  she pleads as she scans it with the new program Kasumi put onto her tool to check. Relieved by the ping of a successful sample found, she sighs, but it is short lived as she hears the soft hydraulic swish of the doors.

 _Fuck!_  she inwardly curses as she sets the brush down as quietly as possible and crouches as well as she can behind the table. Listening in, she can tell immediately by the heavy footsteps that it's not Goto and she risks a peek just for her stomach to sink at the sight of one of the heavily armed guards from outside.

Where the guards inside where simply there 'for looks', no weapons besides their black armored fists and easy to pull one over on, the ones that greeted guests at the shuttles and patrolled the perimeter were true mercenaries, weighed down by full armors and heavy weapons. The ones in the lobby, she could handle in such a situation, but if this bastard caught her, she'd be fucked because the gun on her thigh wouldn't cut through to anything vital before his own weapons made tissue paper out of her dress.

Another quick glance confirms it as a Turian, the cowl and pointed helmet for the fringe easily make him, and she silently thanks that he at least has a helmet, limiting his sense of smell and hearing a bit. It is only because of that, that she feels she can quietly scoot around on the toes of her shoes to skirt the table as he slowly scans the room, his steps bringing him deeper into the room as closer to her cover.

Suddenly, like a saving grace, Hock's alarm clock or something starts blaring out through the room. The black helmet instantly locks onto the noise, the form moving for it and giving her the perfect opportunity to bolt and hope to make it to the doors to take cover behind thicker metal where she can throw up a better offensive maneuver.

Her plans are cut short, however, by the sounds of heavy boots moving like lighting, bolting in spite of her own legs feeling as if running through muddy waters. _Damn Turian's and their long, fucking legs,_  she has a moment to think just before she is shoved against the wall just beside the door, cold metal at her front and her back. She instinctually bucks, feeling her body being pinned instantly to get her from doing that again.

"Don't fight me." His voice is heavily distorted by the helmet's comm, but his hold is firm, restricting enough to get his point across.

"Fuck you," she spits back, her body flaring with biotics because, fuck it, no use trying to stay in character.

The bastard chuckles -  _chuckles!_  - and she kicks back with her foot, insulted he wouldn't even give her the satisfaction to shut the hell up while he has the upper hand. Her kick doesn't land, which isn't a surprise, but what shocks her is when he lifts his armored weight off her back and spin her, giving up the more stable pin he had for one that has her legs free to kick him – even if it won't do shit against armor.

She frowns, confused why the asshole isn't doing more than holding her, and flinches when he steps closer, his comm buzzing weirdly with static. Something, she can't place what, tells her to relax, to actually do what he says, even while her battle ingrained brain screams  _no, you fucking idiot bimbo! Fight the prick, kick, bite scream! Anything but this!_

"See?" his voice is almost flat from the filtering. "I won't hurt you." He releases her arm and lays his hand over her neck, that weird static noise growing louder as his gloved hand drops to lay over her scarred bondmark. With a firm massage of gloved talons, it all makes sense, her willingness to believe him, his intention not to hurt her -  _his laughing at her_.

"Garrus?!" Her eyes widen as she easily pulls out of his hold, her mouth dropping in shock at seeing her mate – who she  _had_  left with the transport shuttle to keep an eye out for trouble – standing before her in a armor clearly not his own. "How?" is all she can manage to say, her head slightly shaking in disbelief.

"You really thought I was going to stay behind while you went in on your own with nothing but a dress and a pistol strapped to your thigh?"

"I had guns-"

"Which are currently waiting to be entered into the high-security vault."

"And," she adds pointedly, narrowing her eyes up at the tinted visor of his black helmet. "I have Kasumi watching my back." A spark of static and arming of a weapon at Garrus' back cements her statement as the thief targets the supposed merc in her sights. "It's alright, Kasumi. It's a friendly."

He snorts and talks through the shared comm between them, the transport crew waiting outside able to access it though they were ordered to keep radio silence while they worked. "I thought you could use some back-up." His voice, while through the comm in his visor, is the same smooth tone Jane remembers and even recognizable enough for the thief to lower her weapon, but not before throwing a questioning look at her Commander.

"This is supposed to be a smooth, Shep. We can't risk losing that graybox." Her hand trembles around the pistol as her lips thin in irritation.

"And you won't," Garrus turns on the smaller woman, obviously not caring that a gun still lays in the hand of someone who's toes he practically just stepped on. "But you can't tell me you aren't expecting trouble, not if you went through all the work to get her armor and weapons into that statue. And not if you already have an extraction plan for this should everything go sideways. You're not a soldier, Kasumi, so trust me when I say that if the worst comes to happen, you two need more than a vanguard and a thief."

Hood turning up to the helmeted Turian, the two are silent as Kasumi seems to think over her options. Tell the determined asshole no, and he'll just probably do it anyways, or let him in on what they need and possibly all get out of this with as little friction and possible bodily harm as possible. Both seem rife with potential to go horribly wrong, but it's not like he's wrong – the shit does tend to hit the fan even when they think they've planned for every eventuality.

Sighing, Kasumi reholsters her weapon at her hip. "Do you think you can find the password for the voice lock on the vault?"

"Most likely," Garrus assures with a nod. "From what I can tell, Hock's paranoia has severely hindered his security force's ability to stay cohesive. The heavy forces are more structured, but his personal guard, the ones overlooking this event, are more beneficial for us while how he constantly cycles squad members."

"Yeah, we discovered that out too." Jane tries to smooth out her dress, righting herself after their struggle. "It's how I got in here. You?"

He shrugs. "I just used the balcony. Walked right behind the patrols overlooking the ledge." She lifts a brow at that, not at all convinced he just _walked_  by without incident, but sure in what he's doing to trust that he hasn't ruined their cover. After all, if he did, they wouldn't really be chit-chatting right now and more likely in the midst of a firefight.

"Right, so I'll try to get Donovan yakking, you get the code phrase, Kasumi will hack the system, and it'll just be a hop-skip-jump until we have that graybox." Jane smirks and holds her hands out in silent, 'how do I look?'. Kasumi chuckles a bit and adjust her hair for her, letting her give a final nod before turning to her stubborn mate.  _I swear, if I didn't see what he's saying, I'd punch him for pulling this shit._

Instead, she says with a stern look, "Don't you dare get caught, Garrus. If shit goes upside down, get to that statue and get my weapons. Use the fucking Cain, if you have to."

She hears a hum over the comm. "Never thought you'd be telling me to go to Saren for protection." He chuckles. "That's a little off, don't you think?" She rolls her eyes and he tilts his head, sobering. "Don't worry. This isn't my first time infiltrating the enemy. You two do what you need to do and I'll get you your code."

"Right, meet you on the other side," Jane says with a pat to his shoulder. "Meet us at the vault access once we get that bastard open. We could use the back-up when shit goes sour." She can just picture his face at that, knowing he probably is imagining the literal translation of that, and chuckles. "Just be there. Either we all walk out after getting this graybox or we need your gun, so be there."

His nod is all she needs to believe in his understanding of both things said and not, of unspoken good lucks, kick ass, and be careful  _or so help me's_. Once gone, Jane turns to her companion, seeing the warm and knowing smile just before the woman fades into invisibility and can't seem to find a reason to care about what the young woman may think about her over protective idiot of a husband.  _He may be a stubborn and over-protective asshole that could get himself killed by his stupidity, but, dammit, he's mine and I know he's better at this than he lets on._


	36. Chapter 36

-Garrus-

"Fucking dammit!," Jane curses, slamming the Hammerhead's controlling levers back and setting the heavy vehicle down behind a towering, natural column of rock. "Garrus, get in the god damned driver's seat. I can't take it anymore."

Garrus raises a brow, but stands from his seat, the height making him hunch in the small compartment of the new ground vehicle never meant for a Turian occupant. He can't say that he doesn't know why his mate would be so frustrated with a seemingly straightforward approach of dodging Geth drones with trying to find and destroy the generators blocking their access. In typical Cerberus manner, they've been chasing a near cold trail and half-leads halfway across the galaxy for days, this being the last possible location of Dr. Manuel Cayce, Cerberus' leading researcher into the supposed Prothean artifacts in this area of space and missing since the ship he was on, the MSV Rosalie, fell under Geth attack.

He still doesn't quite know how to feel about being an unwilling participant in an open disregard of the law demanding all Prothean tech be cataloged and handed over to the Council, but he's not really in the position to complain. None of them are with the Illusive Man's threat to ground them at every port they take through some failsafe in the AI whenever the hell he feels like they should be dropping everything for 'a wild goose chase', as he's heard some of the crew call it.

Should it come down to it, he's sure that, in her own form of rebellion, his wife will have her own special response should they actually find something here that doesn't involve handing potentially ground-breaking technology over to the human supremacist group. Also, he doubts any of the crew would argue her decision – even congratulate her in some cases with certain people on the ship beginning to question their employer.

It's almost a relief to begin to see the subtle shifts in the human crew – those who were once fiercely loyal to Cerberus despite its shady past – away from the man that gives orders from light-years away and towards the woman that eats, lives, and breathes the same air they do. In her uniquely 'Jane' way, his mate as slowly turned the Normandy into  _her_ ship, sucking in the Cerberus loyals, ripping away their false beliefs, and throwing them back out as stronger, independent members of  _Commander Shepard's_  loyal crew. Even Miranda, the one he had believed would offer the most resistance, has begun to see that she'd rather follow the orders of someone inside the line of fire than in the safety of whatever space station the Illusive Man sits by and plays puppet master from.

A loud blast, followed by the flat 'heh, heh, heh' of their Krogan team mate, shakes the Hammerhead and Garrus doesn't need to look at the visual sensors to know the drone following them up the path is gone in a shower of sparks and scrap metal. Sitting into the pilot's seat and adjusting the harness to at least somewhat fit his broad, rounded cowl and chest, he considers that at least it seems like Grunt is enjoying himself. A good thing, too, because even he could hear the murmurs of uneasiness concerning the odd way the Krogan's been acting, which must be nothing compared to the amount of complaints Jane's been getting because Garrus was  _said_  to never leave the Main Battery.

"Alright, you do this fucking shit," Jane huffs as she straps her harness closed, taking out her frustration in the force she uses to slam the clasps closed. "And with luck, this will be the last fucking place we need to search for this doctor. I swear, these people get around like an STD on Omega."

He cringes at the thought, knowing their companion is too focused on the next target he can blast with the giant cannon at his fingertips than their conversation. "Please, Jane. I don't think I, of all people, need a reminder of that place."

He's pleased to see the slight hint of amusement in her eyes when they cut to him as he takes the controls, lifting the giant hover-tank off the ground. The frustration and anger at the whole situation of their past week is still there, but he'll take what little he can get, enjoying when she responds, "You wouldn't be the reason Mordin was researching the outbreak of scale itch on the Normandy? My, you've become adventurous…"

"Jane, you wound me," he says in mock hurt as he motions silently for her to give him the readout from her console. Listening for her callout of the situation of the machine's thruster reserves –  _this thing has the oddest exchange rate of power and upward/forward thrust I've ever seen_ – he pushes forward and around the large kinetic barrier they've been trying to drop, chuckling once he gets the Hammerhead into a steady acceleration back into the field. "And if I'm not mistaken, you haven't found any reason to complain about my  _sense of adventure_."

She snorts to hold in her laughter bubbling in her throat, but he takes the heated look in her eyes as agreement enough to that statement, knowing how to read her better than the entire galaxy that only knows  _the Commander._ She moves to speak as he boosts the tank up the cliff side, most likely to say something about just what she has to say to his 'adventurous side', but is interrupted by the clearly unamused Krogan at the cannons. "Will you find me something to shoot, already?"

The two up front share a soft chuckle as Garrus pushes forward, guiding the Hammerhead through a column of towering rocks. Hearing Jane call out an incoming group of three rocket-armed drones - and confirming with his own radar's visuals – he slides the vehicle out of the first launched rocket and corrects the strafe just as he hears the cannon priming, lining up the hover-craft for Grunt to get a direct line of sight.

The sound of the cannon is muffled from the heavy plating of the tank, the soft rattle of unbuckled harnesses against his and Grunts metal armors from the heavy vibrations the only thing that signals Jane to switch power to upward thrusters as they 'hop' the next fired rocket. She confirms one down as he occupies himself with dodging and lining up a shot for the next. The two remaining defense drones in their path fall in much the same manner, leaving the generator responsible for the remaining strength of the dig site's barrier openly accessible.

Without any readings of possible synthetic interruptions in the area, Grunt is able to take out his full aggression on the defenseless shield generator. Taking the moment to let the almost overheating engines cool –  _it's clear this thing is still in testing stages when fifty degree Celsius is frying its engines or freezing up from Lattesh's ice. The Mako definitely managed in worse, at least until Jane sent it through a miniature relay_ – he glances over at his mate to see a scowl still hammered into her features. It's almost as if she has fed off the Krogan's aggressive state, and while that would be all too accurate to compare his mate with an out-of-control Krogan, he knows her better than that – she's still frustrated with the subtle control techniques of their 'employer'.

"I take it this seat switch wasn't just because you wanted a chance to see my amazing driving skills." He chuckles when she blinks, her innocent expression of being caught with her mind elsewhere making her look years younger – like a child in an armor costume two sizes too big. At her continued confusion, he explains as a call from the onboard computer confirms the kinetic barrier has finally fallen around their destination. "You can't possibly be upset because the Hammerhead couldn't handle your knack for running things over before the gunner can take them out."

She snorts at that, as if he's the blaring alarms and overheating systems that had them all on the edge of their seats in fear of dying in a fiery crash. "Not my fault this thing blows a gasket with just a little tap."

He'll take the slight amusement in her features as reason to continue as he lifts the prototype tank off the ground and swings it to drop back down from the rocky platform they're on, heading towards the Prothean dig site. "I certainly wouldn't use that term-"

"Love tap, then."

"-especially not when flames were billowing out of an engine that was stuttering, causing our lift to bottom out."

She rolls her eyes as Grunt hops off the gunner and struts, heavy-footed, to the hatch in preparation. Hopping up, herself, Jane moves to their gear and grabs helmets, shoving the Krogan his despite his groan of protest. "Suit up, Grunt. It's fifty Celsius out there," he snorts in dismissal as she pointedly continues, " _and_  there's no atmosphere. Helmet, tough shit."

The Krogan grumbles as he pops on his massive silver helmet and she ducks back under the overhang dividing the cockpit from the open cabin. Garrus chuckles when she holds out his own helmet, raising a brow at her special form of ' _motherly concern_ '- as most of the crew call the various instances where she would often bulldoze her way into their lives and concerns under the guise of 'helping'. Not what he'd call the 'put your fucking helmet on or I'll make you, dammit' attitude she often has, but he guesses it better to have a commander insist with force than just let you step out into a thin atmosphere and suffocate.

The gray helmet nudges into his shoulder in her silent insistence and he chuckles again at her determined scowl, but she doesn't force until he sets the Hammerhead completely down, shutting off the main systems. "Alright, alright," he says with a hint of humor to his voice when the helmet wordlessly nudges again. "But you still have to answer me."

"Answer what?" she asked, confused, as she slips on her helmet, he slipping on his own. Both pieces of equipment lock and pressurize just in time for Grunt to open the hatch and hop out, leaving Garrus a moment to stop his wife and give her a look, knowing she understands it through their tinted helmets. "Fine, fine…" She sighs over the comms, the sound barely audible over the disruption filters. "I'm still pissed about all of this." She waves around them as she heads towards their weapons stashed by the exit.

"You mean cleaning up Cerberus' messes?" He accepts his rifle and magnetizes it to his back before grabbing his Mattock. "It's not too big of a surprise, really. Weren't we always cleaning up someone's mess?"

He hears her snort as she hops down, shotgun in hand. "Not the point. The Alliance held my leash because they were my boss and I actually saw the good it would do in the long run. The Illusive Fucking Prick tells me what to do because it's either that, or he holds my freedom over my head – fuck,  _everyone's_ freedom. He's choking me with the god damn leash, Garrus, and I can't do a damn thing about it." She waits for him to hop out behind her before slamming a fist on the controls to shut the hatch. "And I can't shake the feeling that each thing I do for Cerberus is another nail in my coffin should I ever piss them off. They have perfect blackmail material."

He is quiet at that, not sure how to respond when he doesn't entirely believe otherwise. Her fears are completely understandable and he knows that when the time comes where she once again has to become the 'symbol of humanity', their involvements with this group will be more difficult to deny or brush under the rug once word gets out that they've been working behind Council law's back. He knows she's never choose that life of the Alliance and Spectre-hood that abandoned her without good reason, but what better reason is there to fulfill your duty than being the only few that truly know what's coming?

In as quickly as he knows of her, she shakes the frustrations off with a noticeable shrug of her shoulders, loosening them up for potential battle as she lowers her stance for recoil control. Her helmet glances his way and he nods, taking up his own weapon and falling beside her six. Grunt too, immediately notices the shift in to The Commander and takes his own large shotgun out to fall behind Jane as she leads down into the excavated ruins.

The deeper they climb, the more in shambles the site becomes, ruined by time and age. Bodies occasionally littering the dusty corridors are no longer recent kills, the blood from the blue armor already soaked into the dirt and dried up into black puddles.

Garrus doesn't feel too bad for them, though, as the stark white on the armor shows them as none other than Blue Suns. Of course, he knows the mercenary company stretches across the galaxy under multiple commanders and leaders, but that doesn't excuse the dead here. Not if they must have been using dangerous – and idiotic – force against the Geth to destabilize and collapse some of the tunnels as evident by numerous bodies pinned under heavy stone and concrete slabs. "Cerberus is apparently not against hiring merc-"

"Dr. O'Loy must have been indoctrinated by the Reapers. I found him sending our data to a Geth ship." Jane slowly approaches a couple of bodies, now including what looks like scientists or their assistants, and a partially destroyed datapad that seems stuck on loop. "I won't be responsible for another Geth attack, another Eden Prime," the male voice declares, a hint of fear in his voice, but also something akin to their days hunting Saren. "I've silenced O'Loy… forever."

"Reapers, huh? I guess the defeat of Sovereign didn't sway the Geth's beliefs," Jane says aloud as she crouches and tries to get more out of the pad. A few taps on it leaves it shattering in her hands as she huffs in disappointment. "Shit… let's keep moving. With luck we can find another recording, something, to help us figure out whatever the hell could have indoctrinated people."

The odd feeling around the ruins surrounds the group as they descend deeper into the cold darkness of the tunnels. An odd sounds echoes through their helmets, almost like a pulsing, mechanical energy, but they have yet to find the source when they approach another technician downed most likely by the Geth attack. Grunt bends down and grabs a cracked datapad, offering it to Jane, and it lights up as one of them must have hit the distorted activation command.

"It's too late for me. They're still in my head, stealing my thoughts. I can't keep them out. I've got no choice but to destroy this relic… and myself." The recording ends there, repeating as Jane's helmet glances the only direction forward, into a dark, shadowed cavern that is carved into the rock.

While the recorded evidence sounds like the indoctrination they saw when chasing Saren, some of it doesn't fit exactly. If Doctor Cayce had only recently arrived on the dig site, as his writings left behind in the upper camp state, the effects should have left him a mindless idiot like it did the Salarian STG team on Virmire. Yet, here, he was still able to question the influence and, if Sovereign took a time to assert control gradually without incapacitating its victim, how could something short of another Reaper assert itself so seamlessly without destroying the host? Or was something else at work here? Perhaps a combination of factors that made Cayce believe he was indoctrinated?

They slowly approach the last possible end to their search, the soles of their heavy boots cracking and grinding tiny rocks underfoot as they approach was really just looks like a wall. Jane lowers her gun, probably sharing the same thought that Cayce must really have destroyed the relic as he claimed, when the wall starts to shift, revealing a somewhat familiar sight. "Is that?"

"I'll be damned," she breathes, staring up at the silvery, liquid-like orb seemingly floating above a slightly concave platform. "That thing certainly isn't Reaper tech."

His brow raises under his helmet and he looks to her, seeing her putting her gun on her hip. He's incredulous, but they  _did_  have one of those exact things on the Normandy for a long time before she handed it over to the Council after taking Sovereign down. "How can you be so sure?"

"The Council tested the one we found on Elentania. They don't know if it was Prothean or maybe a Prothean-something else hybrid piece of tech." She approaches a flickering datapad at the foot of the levitating orb's pedestal, picking it up and reading it as she talks. "It's like a beacon, but not. Like a connected net of memory banks. I don't know exactly. Too busy to pay attention at the time…"

"So we wasted our time on this?" Grunt grunts as he kicks a particularly big rock off the bridge that leads into the cavern, obviously upset he didn't get his chance to break and smash any possible Geth that made it through before the barrier was thrown up. "Let's get out of here, Shepard."

"Wait… O'Loy wasn't indoctrinated. He was working with the Collectors. He was going to hand over this artifact for supposed protection from the harvesting." She sighs and tosses the datapad down, turning back to the floating orb as her helmet cranes up at its massive size. "I don't think any of these people were indoctrinated."

Garrus tilts his head at that, finding it hard to believe someone as clearly unstable as Cayce seemed through his recordings would be openly allowed around sensitive ruins and research.  _This is Cerberus, though. The people who tried to train Rachni and Thorian husks._  Just to be sure of what she's getting at, knowing from her voice that she has an idea already, he asks, "And Cayce? What's your take on him?"

"There was a man on Eden Prime who, if you were mistaken, could be taken as an indoctrinated nutcase, but he wasn't. He was just some mentally unstable man who happened to touch the beacon." She steps forward, standing beside him at the base of the orbs' slow rotation in the air. " _The_ beacon, Garrus. The man touches the same Prothean beacon I did, most likely saw the same thing I did, and he couldn't handle it in his state. Perhaps that happened here."

"And I doubt Cerberus would care about mental instability when hiring specialists so long as they get the job done."

She snorts and chuckles over the comm. "They hired us. What's that tell you?"

"Ugh… can we go already?"

"Don't get your britches in a twist," Jane turns and starts off towards Grunt, jostling his shoulder. "We just need to get this orb thing and go." Her helmet looks to his and he can practically feel her smile as she rolls her hand exaggeratedly. "Go on, grab the thing, Garrus."

"Didn't you just say Cayce probably went insane because of it?" She shrugs and he scowls in distaste for losing whatever questionable sanity he may still have agreeing to  _half_  the things he agrees to do with her. Even if his helmet hides his expression, he's sure she understands as she laughs.

"I never said that thing did it, I said that a beacon probably did. I heard that guy was a brilliant scientist on Prothean artifacts and I know he didn't die on Eden Prime, so that was probably, most likely, him." She waves at the orb again. "Touch it, you big pussy."

He ignores Grunt's bark of laughter at that as his body turns back to the massive, glowing orb. He remembers well what happened to Jane when she touched it, how she dropped like she'd passed out for a split second, but he also remembers the story she told of some oddly fascinating experience of living another's life as if occupying their body. Though he doesn't see any appeal himself in that, it would be something he could share with her and she seems strangely adamant about him doing it in her stead.

Exhaling heavily with a 'why the hell not?' ringing in his head, Garrus reaches out through the static charge in the air around the orb and touches his gloved talons against the surface. Where he expects his fingers to slip into the liquid shape, he instead touches solid surface. A surface that flicks a flash of green light over it as his eyes see something very different from silver and reflection.

 _Jane? And Liara, Alenko… myself? This is… Elentania._ Though he remembers the time well, he never truly saw all their shocked and awed expressions as he does now, as if in a memory. How could he? The orb never reflected their own visage and, yet, he sees it now as if it had, like a mirror, but that's not quite accurate considering the angle of the image. After all, he never was able to see the slight shrug she gives from his position standing further up the crater just before she reaches towards him.

 _Or it felt like me_ , he thinks with slowly returning realization as he comes to. His hand on his chest plate as if he moved to cover her curious touch with his own. He blinks a bit in surprise and looks down at the compressed form of the orb, his aching face telling him he's in the present once more. Soft boot steps approach him and he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you see anything?" she asks softly, motioning to the orb. "You didn't drop out like I did… I'm a bit jealous."

That cuts through his confusion enough to pull a huff of a laugh. "Yeah," he responds, lifting a hand to his helmet as if he could feel the pulsing ache that had disappeared for a fraction of a moment. It's almost as if that is a bigger shock than the sudden shift between time, the one thing that helps to remind him of where he is when he can't really see or touch her outside of her armor. "I think these orbs remember us."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SquigglySquid says: Super sorry about falling off the face of the Earth for a while. I've been fighting big health problems and haven't had the heart to sit and write. I thank whoever has stuck with me and promise to do better.


	37. Chapter 37

-Jane-

Early morning on the Normandy's way to Tuchanka, neither Jane nor Garrus could find any sleep, so, instead of taking to their duties before their assigned shifts, they decided to take the time to be together and throw out all responsibilities. In only a handful of hours, they would become the hard working Commander and her Gunnery Officer, but for now, they could enjoy the quiet hours of the swing shift cuddled up together.

Garrus was currently sitting up against the headboard, datapad of some weapon's schematic or something of the like if she knew her husband well enough – _how I ever found myself with a tech-head, I'll never know nor try to understand_ – while she practically sat in his lap. At the moment, she was trying to tune her two-year out-of-tune guitar, which was turning out to be more frustrating than she would have initially thought as she continued to have trouble matching the string's tone to that which played on her Omni-Tool. _I swear, it feels like my ears don't work right anymore._

"Shit," she curses softly as she once again hears the 'twang' of an ill-tuned string. Sighing in frustration as she flexes her fingers to, once again, try it after tightening the peg, she feels the soft weight of her mate's chin rest on her head, mindlessly nuzzling against her hair as he reads. _Might as well have him help me if the bastard is going to used my head as a chin rest_ , she thinks with a huff. "Garrus, does this sound too low to you?" She plucks the string, her lips pulling tight at the springing 'twong' that echoes in her ears.

"As oppose to what?"

"As opposed to too high?" His flick of mandible against her scalp makes her roll her eyes. "Listen again." She plays the string. "That's got to be too low," she confirms to them both, shaking her head as she fiddles against with the peg.

"Jane, I have no idea how human instruments are supposed to sound… Just because I kept it and liked the way it sounded doesn't mean I know how to fix it." His hands move to her waist as he rubs his face against her scalp again. Not that she would complain about his attention being completely on her now, but his clear amusement in the low rumble of his chest is _absolutely unhelpful, dammit_. "But keep trying, that face you make is adorable."

"I'm going to just say I imagined that word coming out of your mouth in my presence." Jane's lip pouts in concentration as she tries to block out his chuckle, trying to focus on her instrument. _Come on, come on. Just this last string._

"There," is all he says as his hand covers hers over the tuning pegs. "That's the tone you're trying to get."

"How?" Tilting to get a look at him, she quirks a brow at his half-smile. "How the hell did you just get that out of the blue?"

Tapping his left side, close to where she's sure his hearing canal is, his smile slides into that smart-assed smirk she knows so well. "Superior hearing. Though I'm surprised to say I'm not deaf after last night when-"

"O-kay, changing subjects." She elbows him, shifting back into a comfortable spot in his lap, and he chuckles. "Well," she strokes her thumb over the strings as she flicks off her Tool with her off-hand, "I'm happy you finally put the damn 'pad down to help me. I was in serious distress."

He hums – _clearly_ moved by her words – and rests his head back down, muzzle against her scalp because his mandibles keep him from resting just his chin. He moves his hands further around her body as he hugs her closer to his chest and speaks, "I'll remember to come to your rescue sooner next time. Can't have the Great Commander Shepard downed by a musical instrument."

Ignoring his jab and trying to fight back her smile to maintain that 'I'm mad, but not seriously upset with you so quit trying to be cute' look, she shakes her head and relaxes against his warm chest, now-tuned guitar in hand. When she starts to play aimlessly, testing her new Cerberus-made body's abilities, she's pleasantly surprised to realize that once learned, it's just like the muscle memory of holding a gun - which also helped reform her callouses, coincidently. "Like riding a bicycle," she says without thought, too wrapped up in the smooth notes vibrating through the wooden instrument in her lap.

"Like what?" The complete look of confusion on his face makes her laugh, fingers stuttering to a discordant stop on the strings. His hand moves to the neck, holding the vibrating strings still with a cringe at how that must have sounds to his sensitive ears, and she drops her hand to give his thigh a pat in apology.

"'Like riding a bicycle' is a human saying that means once you learn it, you don't forget it," she explains and he flicks his mandible in exasperation. "Yeah, I know. 'Humans and our sayings'." As he chuckles, she covers his hand over the strings, gently coaxing him to let go and relax. "I promise I won't make your ears bleed this time."

Hearing his hum as he settles against her once more, she begins plucking the strings again. Instead of chords and aimless notes, she begins playing a song, humming the words to herself in time.

She had almost forgotten that her mate hadn't picked up his datapad to continue his reading until he speaks, pulling her away from the rhythm of her music. "What are you singing?"

"Huh?" She glances up to see him smiling down at her, obviously listening the entire time she wrapped herself up in the sensations of vibrating strings under her fingers, vibrating wood against her body, and good music in her ears. "Oh... it's an old song. Really old, even for when I was on Earth. Here, I'll play it for you."

Setting her fingers back into position, she starts up at the beginning of the verse she was on when he spoke, signing aloud instead of humming. "She is like a cat in the dark, and then she is the darkness. She rules her life like a fine skylark, and when the sky is starless. Once in a million years a lady like her rises. Rhiannon, you cry, but she's gone and your life knows no answer. Your life knows no answer. Rhian-non. Rhian-"

"Shepard." Jane quiets her voice, but continues to hum and play, hoping the interrupting AI will get the point. It doesn't. "Commander, Professor Solus would like to speak with you."

 _Nope, not answering. Maybe they'll all get the picture that I want at least five hours of quiet time without any 'Commander Shepard's_ '. She sighs and stops when EDI repeats, her hands laying down on the strings to silence its vibrations. "EDI, tell him that if he's _once_ _again_ asking to 'study' Garrus and my relationship, he knows full well I said 'off-the-god-damn-clock'. That doesn't mean off-shift, or during off hours, that means-"

"No, no. Not considering interest in uncommon inter-species relationship." _Jesus Christ! Does everyone have access to the intercoms whenever they please?_ She hears a sigh of frustration at her back - which she completely agrees with - as the Salarian continues on, most likely saying something unimportant while she silently contemplated how to fry the AI's core so it would stop allowing anyone to comm her cabin. "Know you're busy. But have important matter to discuss." He takes that signature Mordin-inhale which means that, yes, he has been talking while she wasn't paying any attention. "Perhaps can talk in private?"

"Can it wait?" Garrus' tone is clearly irritated from being disturbed and she pats his thigh in silent 'too early to start ripping new assholes, _darling_ '. "At least until it's not _0300_ _in the morning_?"

"Normandy Artificial Intelligence confirmed both awake. Wanted to speak before landing on Tuchanka. Best to be prepared before contact with usually volatile Krogan."

She sighs and lays her head back against her husband's chest, closing her eyes in exasperation as she feels talons brush through her hair. "I take it this isn't just you asking for shore leave to go off and run experiments on local wildlife?" _As if I could be so lucky_.

"Wouldn't ask to put mission aside for trivial matters. Also, Krogan understandably hesitant of visiting Salarians 'running experiments'. Often ends in violence." Inhale. "Messy." She chuckles and sees her mate's annoyance lessen too as he nuzzles her forehead, as if knowing - and understanding - that they need to cut their cuddling and moment of peace short.

Giving his chin a quick kiss, she shifts her guitar to one hand and starts climbing out of bed. "Let me at least put some fucking clothes on so I'm not giving the crew a damn show. Last thing I need is someone saying I harm their innocent sensibilities." She ignores his confirmation as she turns to give Garrus a proper kiss before setting her guitar down in the corner by the bed and moves to get some clothes on, he rising to do the same.

V.v.V.v.V

The Urdnot camp was bursting with boisterous activity and life, spurred on by not only a successful completion of Grunt's Rite and - _coincidental_ \- destruction of rival clan, Weyrloc's major combative forces, but also because of the huge feast provided by Jane and her team's victory over a massive Thresher Maw. When the Shaman had been so vague of their odds before they had traveled out to the old ruins of some long-gone Krogan city, she honestly had no idea they'd be hopping from one weird series of events to another.

She was pleasantly surprised - _which is a severe understatement of the sheer, piss-myself-because-I'm-so-damn-ecstatic joy_ \- to see Wrex, an old friend - _again, severe understatement_ \- who not only didn't think twice about her reappearance, but even broke his 'no touching' rule when he pulled himself off his throne and hugged her as best they could in full armors. Sure, he only had to trust in Garrus' judgment of if she was truly her or not, but it felt good to finally have someone - someone also not her own bondmate and husband - from the first Normandy greet her like she wasn't some damn pariah. Hell, he even threw a jab Garrus' way about his own fashionable scars - _'jealous all the women were after me, Vakarian?_ '. It wasn't too often, she would assume, that what seems like the most successful clan chief, who also happens to be uniting a divided species, shoves aside his duties of dealing with pissy diplomats to both hug and joke with a human and, God forbid, a _Turian_.

Jane would also have to be insulting towards the old Krogan if she truly believed that he had no clue of something suspicious happening when they mysteriously went looking for a Salarian, returning with somber faces. She knew Maleon's data was valuable to the people of something she considered like the weird, vulgar brother, but even she could tell it is too soon for such a broken people to be given the freedoms they once had. She could only hope that Mordin could one day do something with it, listen to the guilt he's denying and help the Krogan overcome something he now sees flaws in.

Now, though, the camp was alive with drunken laughter, feasting, and attempts to one-up one another. After the death of the Thresher, even Garrus was welcome to join to the festivities, accepted as a warrior of Grunt's krant as well as mate to the young Krogan's battlemaster that raised them to victory. Of course, they never would have done it if not for him, but the rowdy Krogan didn't need to know. The moment of silent assurance that had passed between Jane and her husband when the first roars of Maw echoed through the arid, dusty air of Tuchanka - the look that said 'don't worry, I'm right behind you, carrying your fears' - was only theirs, silent but strong enough to shake her out of her frozen panic in the span of a single breath.

 _Who would have thought that I'd only freak out for a split second before Garrus has to pull me out. If that's not progress around Threshers, I don't know what is._ She pulls off a piece of meat off the cooked Maw with her teeth and chews in thought, ignoring how gritty the offering feast or the slightly off taste. _Hell, now my problem in space. Go fucking figure._

Unable to stomach anymore, she hands it off to her new shadow, Urz, and the varren happily devours it as she chuckles at the sight of Grunt in a shoving match with another Krogan. Nudging Garrus, she nods towards the show and he matches her amusement with his own rumbling chuckle. "Our little boy is growing up, Garrus," She says with a little sniffle.

He snorts and flicks his good mandible, turning to her with Tuchanka dust in the cracks and gaps of his plates. How that's not bothering his wounds, she'll never know, but she can't complain about his continued company. He seems about to say something about 'their little boy' when he sees Urz contently knowing on the scraps of her offered 'treat' and he flicks a mandible with a raised brow plate. "You know, if you keep feeding him, he's going to find a way onto the ship. And no, a warship is  _not_ the place for a varren."

She closes her mouth, chuckling at him reading her mind. "Oh, come on now, no need to be such a party pooper. I thought Urz would be an amazing Normandy mascot." She smiles at his unamused and unmoved expression, reaching down and petting the large varren. She lets her voice raise an octave as she addresses the panting beast. "Would you like that, boy? Yeah? Who's a good boy? You are. Yes, you are."

The varren growls and wiggles its rear in the dirt as she coos at it, Garrus rolling his eyes with that exasperated twitch to his mandible in her peripheral. She pats the adorable varren, not sure when in her life she started to see them as  _adorable_ and not  _Jesus fuck, kill the bastards before they bite you_ , but she has an idea that it has a lot to do with this particular varren's 'puppy dog' eyes when she had pulled a dead pyjak off Ratch's shop terminal. How could she not say yes to that look of innocent pleading and lolling tongue?

Chuckling at her husband's reluctant pat when Urz lays his head in his armored lap, Jane nudges the varren away and leans against the pouting Turian. "There, there, Garrus," she says as she walks her fingers up his armored thigh, feeling just a bit more friendly from the shared Ryncol in her system. "You don't need to be jealous of a varren."

"Jealous?" He raises a brow plate, not even considered enough to feign hurt as he rumbles in amusement. "Why would I be jealous of a slobbering animal? Besides," he motions to where the varren is begging Grunt for a sampling of what she thinks is some Maw feeler –  _thank God I wasn't offered that. Not enough Ryncol in the universe to make me try one of those disgusting things._ "It's not like I have much competition. My affection isn't so fickle, I'd like to think."

She snorts at his smirk, shoving him roughly. "I don't know… I heard Krogan really like the scars."

He hums and considers, his mandible quivering in thought. "Then I guess we might want to get out of here before I'm inevitably jumped," he replies with a purr, lowering his head and voice to speak in her ear. "What do you say we leave everyone to their celebrations and head back to the ship? They certainly wouldn't miss us now that they've had hours of drinking and I know I wouldn't mind washing this dirt of us. Maybe even make us an entirely different kind of dirty," he purrs, making her grin.

"I don't know… Grunt may need someone to help his drunk ass back to the ship." She smirks, being difficult, but her husband is having none of it as he stands and tugs her hand to pull her to her feet.

"Grunt is a big boy, he can figure it out," he jokes as they start to shove their way through the raucous Krogan, ignoring shouts and passed Ryncol around them. "And if he doesn't, then we can just send a search party out for him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~SquigglySquid says: Thank you all for the well-wishes. I'm still fighting illness, but I'm still here. :)


	38. Chapter 38

-Garrus-

_One of my associates has brought to my attention you'd like to acquire my services. Let's arrange a meeting. –Fade_

Over and over these words repeated in his mind, fueling his rage and making his blood pound in his ears. Working on the guns was impossible, the lines of numbers all blurring into a single target just beyond his reach, so close yet still far away. His hands shook with adrenaline and his head felt on fire with the need to  _do something_  that none of the stimulants, painkillers or combination of the two could sate. No, all that seemed to be helping was slamming his fists into the unsuspecting training equipment, not having enough mind to thank whoever decided to buy reinforced equipment thanks to Grunt's aggressive episode –  _'puberty'._

Too long, too long he's waited for this break on the spineless, barefaced bastard that betrayed the team Garrus wouldn't have even had if not for Sidonis' insistence. He may not have been the best or most supportive of leaders –hell, he would have never accepted their help if not for the fact it was either take them in and train them to be better or watch them fail using the guise of helping his cause, which he could not stand by and do nothing about - but he certainly wouldn't reject the only chance he had to redeem their pointless deaths.

They died because of him, sure, but he wasn't the one that committed the betrayal. His price for his failure would always be stamped into his face, his flesh, as reminder of his absence and abuse of a group of good soldiers, he would never deny that. Only one last thing remains, he feels, to keep him from being able to put his men to rest and that is to make sure that the man responsible also comes to bear his own burden of guilt.  _Let the punishment fit the crime_.

The near constant growl that's been settled in his chest since receiving the confirming message deepening at his thoughts, Garrus swings a clawed jab at the punching bag, ripping through the reinforced material worn thin from the constant abuse and spilling heavy sand onto the cargo bay floors. Seeing the flowing grains does nothing for his rage, his gravely growls and heave pants, but something else does seem to cut like a cool blade through his blue haze.

"Damn, Garrus." His mate's voice makes him blink, his ridged talons relaxing enough to fist at his sides. "You'd think that thing owes you money." He stands straight and turns to her, seeing in her eyes that her quip is only a front to her concern. She crosses her arms as she studies him, luckily not asking the last thing he wants to hear from the one person he'd ever let see him like this, let calm him in even the slightest, like he does for her. Instead, always able to read the little things he never has to put to words, she says, "So I take it we heard back from the great Fade?"

"That obvious?" If she hears the rough undertone to his voice, she doesn't express any reaction, which he is grateful for. He doesn't know if he could live with her questioning his anger, though there's some part of him that thinks she may be more understanding of his feelings of betrayal and redemption than he might give her credit for.

After all, it wasn't but a few months ago for her that she believed everyone was finally believing of her words that were meant to save them all, warn them of the inevitable war they were blind to. However, she awoke to find most of the universe thinking she was nothing but a lunatic first, terrorist second, and even most of her own kind has turned their backs on her. No, he thinks she knows very well the feeling of betrayal, only she was betrayed by many when he was only victim to a single individual.

Jane nods and moves to him, wiping some blood from his chest where he reopened some of the wounds on his shoulder. She is quiet, granting him the moment to try and force his breath to calm at least enough to  _seem_  in control, but he can't completely slow his heated blood or unclench his hands. He's sure she'll forgive him as she taps the back of a knuckle on his keel, her face contemplating.

"So…" she chews on her words before looking up to him, surprising him when he sees a spark of his own fire in her eyes. "When should I book the flight to the Citadel?"

He knows better than to tell her she doesn't have to be there, that she doesn't have to stain her hands with his own sins. This is just as much about her as it is him and, though she wasn't directly associated with his team, Garrus can't also take away Jane's right to be by her mate's side,  _his_ side. Just as he was with her on Alchera, she must be by him on this, and he trusts wholeheartedly in her commitment to his own special way of repaying Sidonis' betrayal.

"I'd like to head there as soon as possible," he answers her with a growl, trying to calculate how fast they could be there, wishing they could push the engines to their limits. "I've been able to keep it off my mind while I've waited for my false inquiry to reach Fade and bounce back results, but I don't think I can do it anymore. Now that I actually have this, I can't just concentrate on work, on a mission." Shaking his head, he turns from her in frustration at his lack of self-control, his inability to rein Archangel once he's caught scent of a hunt, and leans on his hands on the Hammerhead's inactive thrusters. "Like this, I'm a liability to any mission we go on. Not when I'm so close that I could lose my only lead. I can't lose this bastard, Jane," he grinds out over rumbling vocals that are starting to make his chest and throat hurt.

"Then we won't." He hears her approach him and lean her back against the Hammerhead's cabin, crossing her arms with a determined look. "EDI," she calls out without looking from him, "tell Joker to set course for the Citadel. Double-time it."

Hearing the AI confirm it and repeat estimated arrival, he nods softly in silent thanks, his blood pumping hard under his plates at the mention of closing in and unable to speak without knowing his harmonics would just overshadow any intelligent language. He doesn't need to speak, he realizes, when she smiles wickedly at him, the cybernetics shining dully under her skin and in her eyes. She understands completely and, whether that makes them both monsters or not, he'll never know, but he's certain that the Citadel will never know what hit it.

"Get your Archangel gear ready for the ground, Garrus," his wife says as she stands up from the hover craft. "These people should know what's coming for them." A hint of dark humor is in her voice, something he isn't too ashamed of admitting to liking, as she saunters off to the lift. "Use Cerberus funds if you have to to for an advance on Fade's meeting." She holds a hand against the doors to force them open. "Hell, do it just to fuck over the Illusive Man. He won't miss it."

* * *

 

"I don't see why you didn't just let me finish off Harkin," he growls as he sets their private transit down harder than needed. "Only good he's ever been is a target for a bullet-"

"But we both know that won't satisfy you," his mates interrupts, uncrossing her arms from her chest. "You're not here for Harkin, so killing him won't bring you any pleasure. It'll leave you just as unsatisfied as now. Plus, it'll burn whatever little bridge you have with Decian." His mandibles flick once in silent agreement as he sighs, popping open the cabin of the transit shuttle. "And it's not like he's going anywhere with two blown out kneecaps and a busted nut from that fucking knee kick, Garrus. Not like he can hobble fast enough away from C-Sec," she says with a huff in mock amusement, her face still stern at whatever her own issues with the man were.  _'You're lucky… I wouldn't have shot you in the knee…'_

"Still doesn't take away the bad taste of letting him go." He looks to her to see her shrug, a look in her eyes that says 'nothing takes it away', and he has a moment to think back to Omega, to the long hunts that ended usually in the deaths of his targets.

He had always believed the empty feeling of fleeting victory was only because he hadn't truly succeeded in his solitary desire to rejoin her, but now he questions if it was really because the blood on his hands, the final satiation to that bloodlust, just wasn't as fulfilling as he expected. Hunting down and eliminating his targets had quickly become routine, even the times he had to go 'up close and personal' nothing more than a machine running through emotionless motions to reach completion. Archangel was a mask that slowly became a part of himself, a dissociation from any true semblance of a living being and the emotional connections between action and consequence, and it was a mask he would gladly wear at least once more.

As Archangel, he was the embodiment of a justice that was often cruel and unwavering, but it was the only form of retribution for such a station as the corrupt Omega. It is also a form of justice only fitting for the man who betrayed a trust he was solely responsible for creating. Sidonis will die today at the end of Archangel's scope so that this whole matter could finally be put to rest, his team could be put to rest once justice is served.

With that thought running down his spine, the knowledge that now is the final opportunity to put things to rest, he climbs out of his seat and Jane does the same. "I need to set up." He scans over the railing of the perch they're on, his visor calculating distances and targets in his peripheral that he ignores for the time being. Catching sight of the Orbital Lounge, the supposed meeting place for Fade's contact, he tracks a clear line of sight. "I can get a clear shot from over there," he tells his mate as she's climbing into the pilot's seat, motioning with his chin.

"I'll get him out in the open and you give me the all clear. Then I give a signal, you blow his brains out, and we go our separate ways until it all settles. I got it."

He growls in affirmative, knowing she doesn't quite hear it as the door closes and seals, but it's more just a constant rolling of tension in his chest anyways. They've worked together long enough and they know each other better than they know themselves, so he has no doubt that, despite her flippant way of explanation, she understands every part of their shared plan. She gets the bastard talking, out into the open where Garrus has a clean shot, and when he pulls that trigger, ending the lie once and for all, they use the confusion and panic to slip into the crowds and away from the scene.

Even on a supposedly 'highly secured' station such as the Citadel, the public assassination of someone in such a populated area will be difficult to ever solve. He knows C-Sec well enough to count out the times such unbelievable crimes managed to go unsolved because of the small details that could never be corroborated no matter how many potential witnesses. Without a doubt, Sidonis' death would go unnoticed not only because of this, but because no one will truly work hard at finding the killer of an unknown and unmissed Turian.

Bracing against the railing within the shadows of the higher perch, he extends his Widow's barrel and sets the scope. He can see Jane exiting their transport, setting the cab off in order for her quick slip into the crowd afterwards, and sights down his scope, sighting out the lower floor for any signs of potential trouble.

"I'm out. Heading to the Lounge." He hums in affirmative to her near silent announcement, seeing no one in the crowd that could cause issues for them.  _Just the usual, mundane Citadel crowd too worried about the latest fashions or issues with false politics to make them feel important. Couldn't ask for a better crowd to panic once a shot rings out. They'll never see her slip away._

Scanning up for any recognizable figures around the Lounge, though he figures Sidonis could be a bit more difficult to spot if he was smart enough to at least try to change his appearance as well as his name. It takes a moment, but almost as if the crowd parts under his scrutiny, Garrus' eyes focus on a single male, hunched over and dwarfed in his baggy clothing. He growls as, despite the light purple stripes over his mandibles, he immediately recognizes the man. How could he ever forget the one who all but begged Archangel to take other under his lead or face the consequences of those same failing while separately attending to his vendetta?

"He's on your two o'clock," he growls over the comm, not caring to contain the venom that bites at the edges of his words. With a sideways glance through the crowd, he watches as Sidonis' eyes catch his mate's and she gives a slight flick of her hand while looking around for 'possible overseers to their illegal identity trade'. She looks like a natural, which may very well be the case from her years on Earth, and the Turian doesn't hesitate as he stands to make his way through the crowd.

Garrus can't help the low growl of threat, as if he was directly beside the man and not a couple hundred meters away, at how close to his mate the traitor stands hunched before her, but she doesn't react to the sound as Sidonis' voice echoes over the indistinct voices of the numerous moving people around them. "Let's get this over with," he says with a nervous trill to his vocals as he glances anywhere but at her face, making Garrus narrow his eyes.  _So he fears being found out or he feels guilt in what he's done? Good to know he's not completely steel-less…_

Jane gives her head a slight shake as she jerks her head aside. "Not out in the open." It's almost amusing to see the taller Turian flinch at the command in her words, obviously jumpy from the fact that he may be found out, but he simply nods as he follows the small human – even in her armor – walk through the crowds to relax over a railing. If he wasn't already in on the ruse, Garrus would merely think it was two people relaxing for a conversation.  _No doubt over her experience as a kid running drugs long ago…_

Growling in frustration at how his target has hunched himself behind his mate, nearly collapsing against the railing under his hands, Garrus has no choice but to hold off and try to get Jane to move into a better position or get Sidonis to stop cowering and gain some sense of dignity. "I don't have a clear shot on him. Not through the crowd."  _Not with your head directly in my scope blocking his._

She doesn't reply with any movement, but he knows she understands when she leans up off the rails and retrieves that fake ID they had found when they were raiding Fade's base. "Got your new identity here, Sidonis."

"Don't ever say that name alou-" the man with false colony paints snaps with a jerk of surprise, his words dying when he finally looks to her. "Fuck… you're… you're her…" Garrus can hear the clear panicked vocals and sharp chirrups of distress as he steps back from her, eyes wide and mandibles flicking in distress. "You… but you're dead-"

Through his scope, he can start to see others in the crowd react to Sidonis' reactions and he curses inwardly at his stupidity for thinking someone wouldn't recognize his wife especially in full armor. "Dammit. Don't move Jane. If I get the shot on him, I'm taking it."  _And I don't want the potential to hurt you on my conscience…_

"Look, you tell Garrus I didn't have a choice-"

" _Didn't have a choice_?!" she spits with a snap of her head towards the coward and, if it were any other time where he isn't currently trying to get a clean kill, Garrus could take pleasure that her control and demand is stronger than the panic and fear of death. Now, however, her ire in the remark as frozen Sidonis in his steps, placing him too close for the shot. "Everyone has a fucking choice, dipshit."

"You don't understand…" He keens around the slink creak of Garrus' glove as he tenses around the grip of his rifle, his talon itching for the moment he has an opening. "I… I wasn't strong enough. When they started beating me, I couldn't stay quiet… we were found out, our rendezvous after each job – they knew all our coordinates… I did the only thing I could."

"You gave up your  _team_?!" she says at the same instant Garrus can't help but state "You turned on the people who trusted you."

Despite being unable to hear her comm, Sidonis still shakes his head with a hum of sadness, his vocals thick with the grimy sounds of grief and shame. "I know what I did. I know they died because of me… I can't eat, can't sleep, can't  _think_ … I always see their faces when I close my eyes." His hands shake as he cups his head, keening. "I was certain I'd die when they found out what I did… but I had to… I had to save him-"

Surprised in his reasons, Garrus misses when his wife bolts into action, fisting the taller man's shirt as she flares blue. "You think you did him a fucking favor?! By killing his team and almost killing  _him_?!" Her screams snap him back to attention, as well as starts to attract unwanted attention.  _Dammit, Jane…_

There are times when her anger gets the better of her, he knows, and usually he can forgive her for it, but now there are too many witnesses, too many people starting to see an armored, red headed human shaking a terrified Turian as she pulses with energy and screams. As if luck couldn't get any worse, he can even see a handful of blue in the sea of civilians, the distinct color of C-Sec and the one thing that has him removing his finger from the trigger.  _At least I know of their presence now before I just pulled the trigger and left her to slip away with them on her trail._

"Jane," he interrupts Sidonis' plea, holding back the frustrated hum in his vocals. "Let him go."

"What?" Through his scope, he can see her glance back, unsure where he is exactly, but knowing he can see her. Her brows are furrowed and jaw pulled tight, but starts to relax as she realizes what she's done. "Shit…"

 _Yeah, 'shit'._ "Let him go. It's too hot." She shoves the Turian in her hands away like he's on fire, obviously understanding what Garrus doesn't need to say. "Tell him to go, Jane," he demands shortly with tight mandibles and a rolling growl barely allowing his words to be heard.

"Fuck… Get the fuck out of here." She jerks her hand at the man, making him flinch. "Go! Before he changes his fucking mind!"

With energy he hasn't shown this entire time, Sidonis bolts away through the crowd, movements jerky as he shoves through the crowd to get as far as he can. Garrus watches him through his scope until he loses the curved, gray fringe in the crowd of other bobbing crests, fringes, hoods, and hair and lowers his scope with a clench of his talons against the metal and tight rumble of irritation.

"Shit… Garrus, I really fucked this…" Her voice is weak, defeated in a way he's barely heard from her, and he can see her shoulders low even at this distance. It's a scary way to see her while full clad in armor, but he's not in the completely sane mind to worry about it. Because of her temper, he has lost his chance at the clean end he wanted, but it's also because of her that he know has to question  _why_ Sidonis betrayed him.

When he came here, he was killing a coward and traitor that traded a life for the lives of ten, maybe eleven, other people. Garrus was fine pulling the trigger on such a man, but know the reason for Sidonis' betrayal has changed. To sacrifice ten people who had put their lives in this man's hands for another person, for an idol that wanted nothing to do with them besides use their numbers for his own cause? It just didn't sit well with him and he had to get to the bottom of it – and he knew just how to do that.  _I guess her interference gives me the chance to take this up close and personal. In true Archangel fashion_.

"Jane," he calls over the comm, some of his ire cooled with the prospect of restarting again in person once he tracked Sidonis through the crowd – which wouldn't be hard considering his target is panicked, sick, and weak. "Don't worry about it." She looks surprised at that, turning completely to his possible perch with a confused expression he can see through his visor's readout. "Go see how to help with Thane," he assures, forcing his voice to smooth down at least to make her understand he doesn't really blame her at the chance to fix this himself. "I need some air, a chance to think. I'll meet you at the docks after."

Her brows drop further as her frowns deepens, but she nods, running a hand through the hair that's fallen over her face. "Yeah. Sure. And Garrus? I'm sorry."

She must not expect an answer as she switches her comm off and makes her way through the crowd for a transit, her movements a bit hesitant. He'll explain later, when Archangel isn't struggling at his bonds for the fight, that he holds no grudge against her, that, in a way, her rage offered him a chance to realize that a public killing holds too many 'what if's' for his liking. In a way, he'll need to thank her, for if he hadn't been for her snapping his control over the situation, he couldn't gotten her into a situation he never intended for her.

He won't have her take the fall for his vendetta should C-Sec had reacted faster than anticipated to the sound of a rifle shot that she couldn't slip unnoticed. She already carried too many burdens that he will not add his own to her. Especially not after he's already laid as much of this life on her shoulders as he has by asking her to help him bury his team, send their belongings to their families, and open his own chest of broken psyche that held the things of their first life.

This whole ordeal – the thought of losing him, most like – was eating at her as her own death ate at him. He has no idea what it must have been like when he took the rocket, he wasn't there with her on her final moments, but he isn't deaf or blind to the fact that, whenever he is mentioned around Cerberus, she snaps off any smart quip and falls in line. She made a deal that is still bitter on her tongue for him, to make sure she wouldn't lose him, and the reminder of how close they came has only been pushing on her barriers as much as it's been feeding his anger.

He came here to bring justice for his team while she came to bring justice for  _him_  and Sidonis' words was the last ounce of pressure needed to break her down. The claim that all this pain was just for Garrus' good is something she shouldn't have had to hear, had to contemplate, despite its ridiculousness. For that, it seems, Garrus owes one more to the bastard that caused it. It's why he has followed Sidonis through the Ward to a dark alley between two very loud, very opportunistic, clubs.

Sidonis doesn't even hear the heavy Turian come up upon him, grabbing his fringe and yanking back as he spins them, pinning his forearm under the smaller man's chin. Lantar's back slams against the plastic covered metal walls with a loud grunt and rush of air and Garrus growls, pressing his weight to pin the rest of his body still.

"Ga-Garrus! Spirits…" He doesn't know if the shock is from his sudden appearance or physical one, but he cuts off any further resistance with a firm pressure on the soft throat under his arm, choking off words to desperate gasps. Still, Sidonis tries to speak, for whatever salvation he thinks his further persistence will bring, he doesn't know. "Gar… you… you said to… go…"

"Wouldn't think someone would betray their word? Funny how that works," Archangel growls in response, added a sharp pressure to his throat before releasing enough to begin his interrogation. "You have ten seconds to explain yourself."

"I'm sorr-" He chokes as his air cuts off.  _Not the answer I want._  Coughing at the release, his eyes widen as his whines in his throat and tries to squirm in the hold. "Please… Garrus… I had no choice. I couldn't stand the beatings, I broke-"

"What did you tell them? How did they find the base?"

"I…" He drops his head, shrill shame ringing from his chest. "They had coordinates from my communications… they were able to listen into my comm before I could destroy it. But they didn't know what coordinates matched where. I…" He falls silent, but Archangel will not take half-answers when a man is professing his crimes, so he gives the man's waist a sharp jab with his free fist, making him sputter and groan in pain. "They wanted you!" Sidonis keens, shaking in the hold like a scolded child. "They said they only wanted Archangel… they didn't care about the team. I couldn't let them… I had to do something."

 _You don't get to make that decision, not at the cost of other people's lives._  "What did you tell them? How did they know where the base was?"  _Admit to me what you did, traitor._

"They…" He frowns and drops his eyes, shrinking in Archangel's hold. "I was supposed to call you away so they could ambush you, but I lied to them. I switched the coordinates with their designations…" His voices draws weak, barely audible over the drone of his high harmonics that sound akin to interference over comms. "I switched the coordinates for Destination Alpha and Upsilon… when I told you to go to Alpha-"

"You gave them the location of Upsilon."  _Our base, where the others were never expecting an attack_. He nods in affirmative and receives a release from his throat, a second of confusion before Archangel throws a fist directly into his face.

Sidonis grunts, his vocals yelping in pain, as he falters on his feet, but he isn't granted the peace of a fall as a hard hand wraps back around his throat. His voice gasps out with a wet choke, blue blood from cracked nose plates trailing down to slide over his tongue and chin. "Garr-" He is choked off with a squeeze, his hands flying up to try and pry off steel fingers.

"You made a decision based on your feelings. I didn't need your protection, I didn't  _want_ it." That seems to make the man in his hold keen harder, in sadness of the truth or pain, he doesn't care. "They followed you, trust you, and you led the mercs right to them. You might as well have pulled the trigger on each of them, yourself."

"Please… - _gasp-_  I'm sorry…  _-awck-_  Omega needed you…  _-gasp -_ without Archangel, we were nothing-"

Seeing consciousness fading, he loosens his hold. He wants Sidonis awake for this. "I was ready to die. Your  _team_  never changed that, Sidonis." He drops his free hand to the hidden compartment on his right thigh guard and presses down, releasing the hidden blade into his hand. It's not meant for much more than dire situations in combat, an ergonomic handle forgone for concealment, but it'll do the job.

His mistake coming into this was to add his feelings, to want revenge because, in some way, he felt slighted by not being able to see this coming or do plan ahead, to train the team he had in order to survive, but he understands now. He sees that, if he didn't have the chance to chase Sidonis down into this alley, to demand explanation, he would be no better than his target, making decisions based on personal feelings and emotions. Archangel is better than a man who betrayed many for the life of one for whatever reason –  _I'll be damned if I believe the 'Omega needed Archangel' speech_  – and he would lay out justice properly.

Lantar's breath shakes, speeding up audibly, when the blade in Archangel's hand raises up to his line of sight. "Please, Garrus…"

"Shut up," he snaps with a threatening growl, but his voice only holds the command it would with any other criminal he found in the wastes of his old home on a station of death and decay. "I'm not going to kill you, that's not my place. But I will make sure there's no possible way anyone would ever be gullible enough to put their trust in you."

In truth, Archangel would have no intention of punishing treason between a soldier and the men he betrayed, but his association on the battlefield has made him take notice. No one will court-marital a vigilante for the crimes against his own men, no one cares of what happens on a hell such as Omega, so it falls to him to enact his own justice. Death would only absolve Sidonis of his guilt, free him from his crimes, and it is not something Archangel can abide by, even for a man that once watched his back in battle. If the man ever finds the courage to abolish himself of his sins, then he can end it on his own. Archangel is still Turian enough to recognize such an act of redemption as it would be in the military.

Instead, Sidonis will forever carry a mark that any Turian will be able to understand, wear a permanent warning to all around him that his word is as false as the paint on his face. Changing his hold, Garrus lets Sidonis' throat go and grabs the top of his head, forcing him into a half-kneel so he can work. The man in his hold struggles a bit, but a warning snarl and spoken threat stop his reluctance. "Fight me and it won't be a clean cut." He one handedly opens his tool, accessing the soldering system, and disinfects his blade. "Each of us will carry a permanent mark of our involvement in this."  _It's up to you whether or not you find a way to live with it, Sidonis._

It takes a while to complete his task, his blade meant more for stabbing and slashing than clean cuts, but Sidonis no longer fights, accepting of his punishment in a way that actually impresses Archangel. In return, he grants the man cauterizing of the wounds before he leaves the alley, leaving Sidonis behind, ridding himself of the burden of redemption for the dead with a toss of the halves of the man's mandibles into a nearby organic disposal unit. The blue blends into his armor without suspicion and his blade slides into place to be disposed of later, the blade dull from his work.

It seems only right to have marked the traitor with antiquated and often unused punishment – Turian society having civilized enough to have courts to deal out proper punishments – but he never denied that he often had a traditional view on right and wrong. It also seemed fitting to use discipline befitting the crime, a vigilante scorned to use vigilante justice. He can still eat and function normally, but he could never hide the obvious disfigurement he now sported. Colony paints could be painted on or forged, as proven here, but one look will either have every Turian already aware of his character or have the other species questioning the intentional removal.

_I carry my scars for not ensuring I left my men able to defend themselves and for trusting in the wrong person and he carries his own scars for turning on the men he led under me, the men who trusted in him._


	39. Chapter 39

-Jane-

"Patience, Siha. He will awaken from his battle sleep and find little fault in his mate's actions…"

 _Not fucking shit, Sherlock_ , she thinks as Thane's voice and words of assurance drift into a mindless static in her ears, her mind elsewhere entirely. Namely, on an over two meter tall scarred Turian who she fears she royally pissed off by letting her emotions get the better of her.

She knows Garrus wouldn't turn from her completely because she managed to fuck up his shot. Hell, she knows him enough to know he wouldn't just give up a fight because of one little – or big depending on the situation as the whole cluster fuck it was – so she knows she didn't ruin his only chance at whatever goal his was. If Garrus wanted Sidonis, she's damn sure her outburst and threat of C-Sec interference would have kept him from thinking up some other way to find the Turian bastard.

It still didn't help to take away the self-hatred for messing up such a simple task at the slightest mention of something she didn't want to hear, however. She is still mentally kicking herself for that. So much so that she doesn't recognize she's been caught off-guard until she feels the burning sensation of two black eyes on her hunched shoulders.

"What? Yeah, yeah. You're right," she says quickly as she stands up from the railing outside the C-Sec checkpoint she was using as she stared off into the expanse of the Ward. "Sorry, Thane, but I'm not exactly paying attention."

His head bobs in a soft nod. "It is understandable. Perhaps you should return to the ship." His attention drifts towards the small alcove that stands at this section of the Ward's C-Sec presence, most likely waiting for any sign of acceptance. "I would like to take the chance to speak with Kolyat before we must leave."

"Of course," she replies, again not completely focused on the conversation as her body feels jittery from the 'chase' for his son that left her nerves wanting for action, for something more than the one time she fired her weapon to disable the younger Drell or when she cold-clocked that bitch reporter. "We leave tomorrow unless something comes up."

She doesn't hear his response as she heads to the C-Sec checkpoint for the docks, knowing that she's probably going to punch something else if she has to sit here one second longer listening to the man's voice drone on about something she couldn't give two shits about. It's not that she minds Thane's peculiar way of speaking almost entirely monotone and without emotion, she has no particular opinion one way or the other about it, or how he tends to go on about a past he both feels guilt and, yet, no guilt for – even though she knows that's complete bull – it's just that she has so such more important things to do.

 _Things like just how deep I've shoved my head up my ass by fucking this up for Garrus._  She sighs as she steps into the airlock, hearing the decontamination start its cycle. With luck, her mate may be on the ship and not fuming somewhere on the Citadel where she could have no chance of finding him. Having to rely on his readiness to come back to the ship was not something she was looking forward to when she considers the fact that she may very well have to kiss some serious Turian ass to get back in his good graces.

 _Fuck it. Who am I kidding?_ She thinks with a groan as she rubs her temples, ignoring the bright lights of the decontamination.  _I'd use tongue if only it would get rid of this twisting guilt in my stomach. How could I have fucked this so bad? What have I done?_

"Fucking shit," she breathes out to the sound of the doors sliding open, stepping out and into the CIC. She ignores the wandering eyes and confused whispers of some of the on-shift navigators and deck crew. Odds are they're wondering what the hell has gotten into their commander and whether or not it's worth the effort to question it or let it be.

As she passes by her flashing terminal, one look at her has Chambers quickly backtracking from whatever friendly reminder and focused intently on her own terminal. Probably for the best, as Jane isn't sure she can handle much past a flippant dismissal to anyone right now, anyways. Certainly anything pending immediate response would entail more than a blinking light and message in her inbox, so she has no problem telling the menial tasks to shove until she's properly on duty, when there are less important issues at hand than trying to tend to her own personal sanity.

 _What the fuck has happened to me that I'd rather piss about my personal life than do some God damn work?_ She sighs as she slams a fist on the lift's call controls.  _I'll tell you what's happened... Garrus Fucking God Damn Vakarian is what happened. Before that smart ass bastard walked into my life, I wouldn't care about my crew's hurt feelings. But now? Now I'm shitting myself worrying about fucking up my relationship with that same Turian_ _ **that I also married**_ _._

Yet, despite her frustration and bitching about it, she knows she wouldn't want it any other way. She never thought she'd find someone to make her more human, less like a machine solely focused on herself or, bar that, determined to turn themselves into becoming a symbol in order to mask her failings. With everyone else she's only ever been Commander Shepard and all that title entails, but she can actually be Jane with him and it feels pretty damn good.

It's why she's willing to slip that mask off here and now, even with so many around, in order to make sure she hasn't ruined the only thing that was ever truly hers, not gained with intentions of others' interests. She's sure he has no clue how apt his name from Omega really is. How, everytime she looks at him, she sees her angel whose wings carried her through the worst years in her life and will most definitely be responsible for sheltering her through whatever hell has yet to come.

Sighing in exhaustion as she runs her hands through the numerous strands of undone hair, she calls out to the Normandy's AI. "EDI? Where is Garrus?"

"Officer Vakarian is currently located on the Cargo Deck, using the Combat Training and Fitness facilities."

 _So... pissed off. Great,_  she thinks with a sigh as she nods, assuming the AI can see it even if it can't understand the expression. "That'll be all, EDI. Log out and give us some privacy."

"Very well, Commander Shepard. Logging you out." The blue orb dissipates, leaving Jane to wonder just how much effort the AI will put into keeping the crew away considering it has no problem blabbing some of the most intimate parts of their lives unless specifically told not to. She still remembers when the nosy Intelligence had no problem advertising to the entire Mess Hall why she had six distinct claw marks over her shoulders when Gardner had asked out of concern.

She figures explaining privacy to an AI is a long, boring conversation for another day as the doors slide open and she sees her mate examining his armor laid on on the bench. He doesn't seem to have been working out when she arrived, the only sign he  _plans_  to the fact that he's in his undersuit and not currently in the process of removing that too.  _Knock it off, Jane. Now's not the time to be admiring your husband in his tight fitting, jet black, figure-accentuating - Dammit!_

She shakes it out of her head and reminds herself she's got music to face, apologies to say, and an ass reaming to receive. Whatever she deserves for crumbling up the plan, shitting on it, and setting it aflame before tossing it out the window. "Garrus," She calls out, getting a mere glance of his attention. "Look, I wanted to apologize. I fucked up and..." She rubs her neck, not used to ever admitting failure, but, if she were honest, this is a good place to start, a damn good person to apologize  _to._

"And I'm sorry," She admits, looking straight into that single blue eye scrutinizing her over a broad shoulder. "I fucked up and I have no excuse."

Garrus emits a rolling rumble of a sigh as he turns around to face her, tall and imposing in a solid black undersuit form fitted to his shapes and open at toes and fingers to allow a snug fit for his boots and gloves. "Honestly, I don't blame you, Jane. I've known how you handle things, your tendency to act first without any thought of consequences. If anyone should carry the blame, it should be me for having expected anything else, for being able to fight your compulsive nature when the time came."

She's stunned at his almost defeated expression, the disappointment in his voice like a parent towards a guilty child, and all she can think up as answer is a confused blink and simple. "What...?"  _Fight my nature? He's to blame? Not upset? Is he insane?_ "What the fuck are you on?"

His head twitches in a quick lift of his chin, a nearly unnoticeable move of wordless challenge for reaction as he slowly approaches her. "Insinuations? Classy, Jane." He reaches for his visor and sets it on a nearby turbine on his way towards her, her ire rising with each alien step of toe-step-toe. "Since neither of us prefers a simple conversation when actions speak so much louder, how about we solve this physically?"

His stalk - and that's exactly what it feels and looks like - stops just beyond her reach, yet still close enough that she must look up into his eyes. He taking advantage of that height difference for an upper hand only pisses her off more as she glares up into those cold steel blue eyes. "Fine," She spits, her hands moving to practically rip open the catches off her armor. It will only slow her down and get in the way while she kicks his ass, so she sheds it quickly before kicking it aside. "I'll fucking show you my  _compulsive nature_."

She balls her fists and throws an immediate punch, but he blocks with his forearm, pushing it aside before returning from the opposite side. Jane ducks under and throws an upward jab, missing his softer waist and hitting only plate.

"Forgetting your training?" A strong arm comes down, trapping her arm against his side. "Or letting your emotions get the better of you?"

"Fuck you," She spits out before lifting a leg to kick the back of his knee. He bends into the kick, taking away the force and releases her arm, butting a forearm against her chest to knock her back.

"You seem angry, Jane." He swings and she throws up her arms to block it, spinning into the punch.

"You think?!" She throws a fist at the side of his head that he swats away, turning to grab her head in his hands. He knocks his plated forehead against hers before she could do the same and she stumbles back. "Fuck... dirty trick, asshole."

"Opportunity," he corrects as she shakes it off, charging with fists flying. "Your head isn't in the ring."

"That's because," punch thrown and blocked by his stronger forearm, "you thought," he catches her punch in a palm, "it was a good fucking idea," she jabs a sharp knee into his waist, hitting home from his grunt, "to fight this out."

She goes for a jab with her free hand only to receive a tight jerk on her trapped fist closer so it lands uselessly against his hard cowl. "And you thought it was a good idea to ruin my shot."

"I did what I had to do!" She high kicks out against his waist, knocking the air out of him and making him bow just enough to knee him in the face. He groans and shoves her away, tossing his head with a jerk to most likely shake off the pain in his cracked nose plate and still sore right side.

"You're wrong," he growls, in either pain or anger she doesn't know. "It was my place to deal with Sidonis and you just couldn't let someone else lead." He stands and flexes his fists. "I nearly lost the chance to redeem my team."

"I get it!" She screams as she throws a punch that he easily steps aside due to her unfocused charge. "I fucked up! I know I fucked up your chance, but you know what? I don't regret a God damn moment of it!" She punches uselessly at his chest, her eyes narrowing at the thought of what that fucking monster said to her. "That fucker had to die for what he did. He had no right!"

It's an admission she's been fighting all day. The choice that, if knowing the outcome, would react the same way when the man claimed all he had done was for Garrus' sake. The answer, she now sees, is a resounding, absolute ' _yes_.' She nearly lost the only thing that meant a damn in her entire, useless life -  _both lives, as it turns out_ \- because of some stupid fuck's idea of how to save her husband, when everyone knows he'd never turn his back on those in his team, having wanted them or not.

Like a switch had been flipped,  _playtime over_ , the Turian before her moves, cupping her fist and sliding to her wrist as he circles around you. Locking her arm around her front and unable to move, he kicks at her knee and she drops, pulled under his strength and her drained feeling of her stresses dissipating under her realization. She falls without struggle, too stunned to fight as he pins her, face to face.

"So you're saying, that given the circumstances, you'd do it again?" His hands slide from her shoulders to her wrists as he leans closer to her, obviously reading her lack of fight as he gets within head butting range - not that her head is up for another collision with that impenetrable skull.

She swallows up at the crystal blue eyes, not flinching when the thin stream of blue from his nostril drips of the cut of his chin to land on her throat. She nods and tugs on his hold, finding no slack as he only tightens, wanting his answer.

"Yes," She assures. "I will never apologize for letting my nature get the better of me. Not when it concerns you, Garrus." His mandibles relax a bit from their tight position, his breath fanning against her sweaty face and mingling with her own. "I don't regret a damn thing about what I did. You'll just have to accept that because I will never take it back."

She feels before she hears the soft rumble through his keel pressed tightly against her sternum. It's a confusing reaction, the sound something akin to a kind of amusement, and she frowns, about to ask 'what the hell did I say?' when his face twitches. His mandibles flick against his chin before his good one lowers and spreads in a shocking, absolutely fucking unbelievable _, smirk._

 _"_ The fuck..." She scowls and tugs harder on his hold, now  _really_ pissed at whatever game he's playing. "Did you plan this?!"

His voice takes on that purring roll when he's too damn smug for his health as he hums in consideration. "I might have had an idea we would end up like this-"

"You bastard!" Using that fucking smug smirk against him, she flares violet with energy and easily flips them, pinning him with her biotics _. It's unfair, but fuck him_ , she thinks,  _he shouldn't have played with fire._  He grunts in surprise when his back hits the floor, but it does nothing for that fucking amused expression on his face. "Wipe that God damn look of your fucking face or so help me-"

"Or you'll take out your anger on me?" He chuckles and relaxes in her hold. "Face it, Jane, neither one of us is good at talking through our problems and both of us had things to get off our chests."

"Yeah, like what the hell am I thinking being married to such a prick. I came here to apologize and you just wanted to get your rocks off getting the shit kicked out of you."

"No," he snaps, his eyes staring into hers calming some of her anger in their certainty. "You came to apologize for something even you didn't regret. Don't ever apologize to me for taking action against my enemies because I won't. If I didn't want you there, I wouldn't have asked for your help, but I did." He tugs a bit on her hold, lifting his head closer to hers. "And I don't regret a thing about how it all went down. You just needed to see that."

Understanding his motives, twisted in execution as it was, doesn't help completely alleviate her anger. He's right, dammit, but she's always been one to hate being manipulated, even for her own good. She's definitely not used to always facing the confusing emotions that comes with being human, for having someone to be better for, and she hates showing the cracks he always seems to find in order to reinforce and make stronger than before.

_And dammit, that knowing look in his eyes and reassuring tremble in his vocals isn't helping. Why can't he just be angry with me and get it over with? Why does he have to actually understand my insanity better than I do?_

"Fuck," She says aloud, biting her lip in the rage that hasn't burned out of her system, only fueled by her frustration. Forgoing anything beyond that simple word, she slams her lips to his mouth plates, struck by a hunger to make him pay for what he does to her, to claim some sort of control and shake his irritatingly calm assurance.

He growls at her forceful kiss, but she ignores him as she leave his arms in a strong stasis, freeing her hands to explore. She grabs his fringe hard and yanks his head back, making his breath gasp as she shoves her tongue into his now parted plates. She moans with him as their tongues touch, sending sparks of desire straight down to settle and pool between her thighs.

Needing less between her and her goal, her free hand drops to his hips, yanking at his pants forcefully. It is difficult with her weight on him as it is with their bodies so close, so she jerks up onto her knees. She rips at his closures, hearing his throaty chuckle.

"Someone's in a hurry," he jokes breathlessly from the angle of her hold, his eyes dark as from where he watches her hungrily.

She yanks harder on his fringe, making him choke for a moment as his head is jerked to the side. "Shut up." He growls at her command, but doesn't move or speak as she opens his suit, hand snaking in immediately to press against the widening split in his plates.

His rumbling moan vibrates straight through her thighs as his eyes close only to snap back open, his breath raspy through nearly constricted air way. She smirks in triumph as she grips him a bit harder than usual and pumps him hard.

It isn't for him, oh no, she's merely making sure every ridge and crevasse is coated in his slick fluids for her own comfort and she makes it known when she jerks her hand away just at the first sound of his enjoyment. She almost laughs at his frustrated groan, a growl of aggravation laced within at her interpreted teasing, but she's too keyed up to be amused by him, too determined to get what she wants from him.

Her own undersuit receives similar treatment, the rub of the coarse fabric shifting against her soaked panties like torture that makes her nearly screaming for talons just to rip the damn things to shreds. Getting it off a leg -  _fine-fucking-ally_ \- she straddles her mate, rubbing her core shamelessly over the ridged underside of him.

She hears Garrus moan with her, his legs shifting desperately against her weight and hold for leverage, but this isn't his game. He had his chance to play her before, but now it's her turn and, oh, how she will enjoy it.

"Fuck," She gasps when she grinds just right over the subtle curve to run the rise and fall of his plated underside just right over her clit. With a moan, she grinds harder, wondering distantly how long she could the bastard before she repays his dirty trick.  _Shame I would have to wait, but it's so worth it._

Her hips jerk and her eyes close as she bites her lip to control her vocal pleasure, the coil in her stomach growing tighter by the second. Her breath comes short as she grinds faster, harder, against him, feeling his vocal desire thrumming through his body and up her spine like a live wire.

Like a twig snapping, all the tension from today's firefights and stress from worrying about her mistake flood from her veins in a rush as she climaxes. Her hearing is nothing but the rush of adrenaline, her eyes seeing white, as she moans loud, uncaring for who hears her finally finding some calm after the shit storm that was her day.

Panting, she opens her eyes to see her growling, hungry and needy mate, his eyes dark with predatory desire as he flicks his tongue out to taste the air. He growls, his mandible flicking out into a dirty smirk. "Enjoy yourself?" He asks, heated voice barely recognizable around the constant grind of vocals she's come to know as every conflicting evidence to his supposed calm.

Her lips curl, that voice making her hungry all over again. She jerks his mandible, gaining a choked snarl while his eyes never leave her own. "Shut. Up." He chuckles - which is a delicate term for the sound - and his amusement flares her anger again.

She scowls -  _how could he be so damn smug after I just fucking used him like a toy?! -_ and presses her free thumb against his cracked plate. He roars in pain and a bit of something else as he bucks hard, surprising her enough to break through her hold and toss her aside like the little human female she is.

She lands with a grunt as he rolls, wrapping a huge fist around her ankle and yanking her back. She slides, a bit uncomfortably, across the metal grates, but uses his move against him as she kicks his shoulder with her free foot when he tries to roll her. He releases and she quickly slides away, moving to his side. Grabbing his fringe again, she pulls his head aside and to her chest, forcing him to either roll onto his back or risk injury to his neck.

Stubborn as always, he merely growls and tosses his head, nearly jerking from her hold as his hand snaps to her leg. With no option, and certainly not going to give him the chance to top this time, not while she's still got plenty of 'steam to blow off', she uses her biotics through her hands as she kicks his waist.

Almost unable to decide which is more important, his reaction is a mix grunt in surprised pain and thrumming growl at the sensation of energy flowing through her hands and over his nerves. Moving fast, she rolls him back onto his back and straddles him, sinking down immediately to regain her claim.

Two entirely different voices moan in unison as she glides home, her hands gripping painfully tight on her partner's crest as she pulls his head back, exposing his throat. She feels sharp talons dig into the meat of her ass, but she doesn't give a damn as she lifts and slams back, relishing that airy growl in her ear.

Garrus bucks into her downward thrusts, his hands lifting and jerking her hips down to make himself hit deeper, harder. She grabs hold of his shoulder to keep grip as they, together, set a fast, brutal pace. No longer is it about her taking and using him in spite, but them both giving and receiving ecstasy as one. As it will always be, one cannot exist without the other.

With a scream that Garrus muffles with his mouth pressed hard to hers, Jane cums hard around the hard length within, her walls clenching so tightly it's nearly painful when her husband pulses with a feral growl, his hot release filling her. She immediately releases his fringe, all but collapsing into his hold as she whimpers with each spark of electric pleasure through her body. "Sh...shit," She barely manages, making the warm plates beneath her chuckle.

"I don't think this is a very good initiative not to do it again." She glares up at him, seeing his tired, but amused expression.

She sits up a bit to better show her disapproval. However she expects to do that while not still trembling from sex or cheeks flushed from arousal. "Shut it, Vakarian. I'm still not sure I appreciate you playing with my emotions."

"Why? Because I know how you work? What to say or do to get you to let go?" He purrs and cups her chin, his thumb stroking her cheek. "So it was an underhanded thing to do, but you can't tell me you didn't have fun or like the way it turned out?"

She snorts at his knowing smirk, sighing in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. I needed this... all of it." She shakes her head and takes his hand from her face. "You know, most people - most  _couples_ \- tend to talk through shit like this."

He shrugs. "Where's the fun in that?"

She can't help it - his expression, bloody face and all, and his nonchalance piled onto everything else that's happened today - she laughs, deep, belly warming laughter that has him joining in. Here they are, two half naked and beaten people covered in blood, grime, and fluids from all the shit they've gone through today laughing like children as if there's no care in the world. It's good, she has to admit, to be innocent, if even for a moment, as she cups his face and presses her forehead to his, grinning like a fool.

"Thank you," She whispers. "For beating some fucking sense into me."

He purrs and tilts to brush his plates against her lips. "Just don't do it again?" He adds with a chuckle.

She snorts and swats his shoulder with the back of her hand just before he leans forward and kisses her, a soft hum vibrating against her lips before she grants him entry. Eyes closing in contentment, she takes in his taste, the coarse rasp of his tongue as it slides against hers. She almost considers grinding against him, coaxing his still inserted penis back to full attention when she hears the tell-tale connection of the intercom.

"Commander?" The voice of the Yeoman, void of joy which signifies this as a professional call, intones over the huge Bay. "The Illusive Man wishes to speak with you. It seemed urgent."

Jane sighs, feeling a soft nuzzle in understanding against her jaw to help ease some of her disappointment. "Thank you, Kelly. Let him know I'll be right there." Turning to her husband, she quirks a sad frown. "Guess this means duty calls."

"As it always does." His voice is a comforting thrum as he kisses her once more before helping her to her feet, her returning the favor in turn. "You know where to find me, Jane. Don't hesitate to stop by."


	40. Chapter 40

-Garrus-

"I don't know, Shepard," Jacob says with a shake of his head, his brows drawn down in confusion as he leans against the conference table where Jane has called everyone together. "A  _whole_ Collector ship?"

The tattooed biotic snorts from her corner. "Typical Cerberus bullshit. Don't think the birds have it in them?"

" _Species_  aside," Garrus cuts in, trying to distract the group from the glare passing between the two humans. "One ship can't do that with standard weaponry… at least not a single patrol ship. Remember what effect the defense guns on Horizon had?"

"Yeah… they didn't do a damn thing." Jane sighs, rubbing a particular cybernetic scar on her cheek that hasn't yet healed over. "Fucking hell."

"Shepard," Miranda intones. "I don't know either how they could have done it, but information is the Illusive Man's business. I don't think he would send us after a fake signal."

"Lawson, how about we not talk about the Illusive Man and his loose hold on  _information_?" A red brow lifts and the Operative looks away with a sigh, no one in the room really needing to be reminded how their supposed employer likes to only tell half the story when acquiring their attention on matters. "Egotistical tendency to fuck us up the ass every chance he gets aside, the Illusive Prick is right. We need something to pin these bastards down, something other than rumors and horror stories." She walks over to the conference table, resting on her hands as she drops her head with a frustrated sigh. "This ship is our only chance we've got. I can't piss that away."

Garrus can see, in the way eyes either cast away or to another, that they all reluctantly agree, wanting to find an excuse against the job, but unable to fight that nagging truth that this could be their only chance. 'It's now or never,' humans often say and he hasn't seen any better term to explain the cold, hard facts that, even if they are very likely walking into some trap or another, if they want any step towards the Collectors and stopping their human abductions, they must take this opportunity.  _Suicide missions seem to be our specialty... just like old times._

"Then why the bloody hell are we standing around with our soddin' thumbs up our arseholes?" The scarred, mercenary that always smells of something smokey says from his corner of the room, not even bothering to peel himself off the wall.

"My thoughts exactly," Jane says as she pushes off the table with a roll of her neck, most likely sore from their long nights of shared insomnia and bad dreams. Her eyes scan over the room as her face stiffen, retaining that commanding tone through her frustrations and aggravations of their situation. "I'm going in with a team to jack EDI into their ship, we get in, set up connection to the Normandy, get whatever data we can on these bastards, and get the fuck out. Lawson, you have the ship while I drop."

The woman in question nods in understanding. "Who is on your ground team, Shepard?"

Emerald eyes lock with his, a silent 'You in?' that he answers with a slight nod of his own - 'Always. Right behind you'. At that, his mate turns to the room, seeking until she lands on the human freelancer. "McKnight-"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I want you on the Collector ship with us." She ignores the misstep on her title that the man always seems to make, probably tired of the constant corrections to a title she doesn't necessarily have anymore, from an Alliance that no longer wants anything to do with her. "You're responsible for getting EDI in and out. Take whatever shit you're going to need and lets see if you can't find us something while we have our chance." He nods in understanding as she turns to the geneticist on the ship. "Mordin, I want you with us. You and McKnight have been sharing data, correct?"

"Affirmative. Knowledge of Collectors insightful. Able to use experience against hypothesis on Collector data. Would look forward to first hand opportunity to test and collect samples from actual ship." A raised hand cuts him off from further listing his ideas, theories, and plans.

"Easy, Solus," Jane soothes. "You'll get your chance. You and Knight grab as much shit as your hands can carry when we get there. Anything not bolted down and potentially useful, grab. Understood?"

"Affirmative." "Absolutely." Two voices say in unison.

She nods and looks, finally, to Garrus. "You're with me, Vakarian. You and I got short and long range. With luck, we'll provide enough distraction and cover fire for them to show the Collectors what it's like to no longer be the big bad boogeymen of rumor and legend."

"Right behind you, Shepard."  _Never have to ask otherwise._

She nods, her eyes speaking words neither can say in present company, but he knows she understands, knows the words they speak are mostly show for the others even if they never asked for it. Most have learned not to bother with questioning her need to have him at her side, either trusting her judgment call and his skills or just too unwilling to face her wrath by questioning her. Instead, those left to the ship merely nod in understanding of her orders, listening intently for their own commands and postings while left behind.

"Everyone else, I want you alert in case they try to board us while we're docked to them. One team with be by the airlock and the other at the Cargo Doors. I don't think I need to tell you how important it is that we don't let them on this ship." She stops and looks up to the ceiling. "Joker? What's our ETA?"

"Closing in on the Relay now, if you want to get geared up and to the cockpit for approach."

"I'll be there," she confirms, having already suited up in her armor before this debrief, before turning back to her collected crew. "Everyone on Decks Two and Three, you cover the airlock. Everyone on Engineering, you take the Cargo Hold. My team, get geared up in the armory, heavy weapons included. Dismissed."

The collective begins to disperse, those ordered for the ground team heading to suit and arm themselves while Garrus approaches Jane before she makes her leave to the cockpit. "I take it you'd like the Eviscerator, Phalanx, and Locust?"

"Cain, too."

"Cain?" He lifts a brow. "You know we're on a ship, right?"

She smirks and pats his shoulder. "Bring the Cain. If I come across one of those big bastards, I want to take it out before it tries another of those fucking smash and blasts."

Remembering that monstrosity on Horizon- the way its countless heads and eyes within its massive maw would track his wife and only her, following her around the field with mindless intent- Garrus growls under his breath. The heavy weapon, slow to the draw but absolutely devastating in its destructive capabilities, is definitely the best choice against the thing, to destroy it before it gets close enough to inflict massive damage. He only hopes they aren't in the delicate situation of possibly breaching the Collector ship's hull in order to eliminate it.

He gives her a nod in understanding, knowing her, of all people, doesn't need to be reminded of the cost of a hull breach, of the devastating effects of depressurization and the results of being caught in the vacuum of space.  _It would be insulting to act like she wouldn't know... and I'll be damned if **I'm** the one to bring up the very thing that keeps her up at night as if it were something that could be simply forgotten._

When he is completing the last minute checks on her weapons, he begins to the ship slowing, the core powering low in order to maintain position without maximum forward thrust or too minimal that it drifts off course – signs that they will most likely be deployed in the shuttle. His assumption is proven correct when Jane enters the armory shortly after, ordering their attention in the shuttle bay with a pat on McKnight's armored shoulder as she passes in what Garrus assumes in her typical silent confirmation of readiness from her crew.

He's seen it only a handful of times and always just before a mission that has a questionable outcome in her mind which doesn't loan well to her state of mind for this drop. If anything, she's expecting, waiting, for something bad to happen and, though it can sometimes be better to be cautious, Garrus, himself, already sees the worst in their situations after Omega, so both of them thinking it is just a waste of energy. Whatever may come, he is here to pick her up when the weight of the Commander becomes too heavy a burden on her shoulders, he will be the pillar of strength holding up everyone else's symbol of hope the see in her.

"You ready for the drop, Vakarian?" Small, five fingered hands reach for the weapons he's already set aside after inspection, strapping them onto her armor. "EDI says scans show these are the same ugly bastards on Horizon, same ship and everything." She looks up to him as he offers over the last weapon for her arsenal, small hands gently nudging against his for a split second before pulling away. "Maybe we can still save some colonists," she says with a sigh on her breath.

He nods in silent reassurance he doesn't actually have the heart to feel, realistic thoughts otherwise just too strong to ignore. "Right behind you, Shepard."

The four of them ride the shuttle in somber silence, all pondering their own reasons of their supposed enemy's mysterious absence and silence on the very ship that was openly active in the human abductions just a short month ago on the human colonies. Everyone's thoughts are on the mission, on their own goal and mission on top of the group's duty of ensuring the AI can connect and retrieve a way to the source of the Collectors, where and how they remain such a mystery. Mordin will try to find biological weaknesses or explanations of their enemies, McKnight is to search for any tech they can then use to enhance their own defenses and weaponry, Jane is in search of anyone she can still save, and Garrus is there to ensure her over ambitious hopes don't kill her.

Hopping down from the shuttle and into the tunnel like corridor of the Collector ship is like stepping into another world. McKnight makes a reference to something called a 'termite's nest' overgrowing a ship's interior and, though Garrus does quite understand the whole reference, he has to agree that this place has an otherworldly collaboration of synthetic and insectoid design.

"Great. Just more reason more me to hate the ugly fucking bastards," Jane spits out in disgust over her comm, fingers tensing on her weapon. "If they start scurrying up the walls like a roach, I'm nuking this place."

"Though of Blattodea order, 'termite' reference more accurate. Structure similar to that of mound structures seen."

"Wonderful insight, Mordin." Her voice is flat with sarcasm as she leads through the corridors, helmet scanning in caution. "If it's all the same, I'd much rather – the fuck?"

She motions to follow closer as her shoulders tense visibly at the sight of a mound of bodies, the air thick with decay even through filters of their helmets. McKnight cringes visibly, turning away from the horrific sight of humans piled without thought or care, some even beyond recognition of species while those higher are still within their distinguishable armors and work uniforms. The others, whether thankfully or not used to the sight of death and such brutality, step close enough to start to see more telling details.

"Damn…" Garrus chokes a bit behind his helmet, visible readings from his visor showing the pile so dense it emits heat from the decomposition gases and a questionable fluid seeping across the floor below. "Not all of these people are from Horizon. This ship must have had more colonists on it."

The geneticist, seemingly not too bothered by the sight, hums as he holds his chin, eyes flicking over the human bodies. "Possible experiment? Control group? Most likely discarded at end of experiment."

Jane's free hand fists tightly at her side as she turns to them. "Doesn't matter what they were for, they're fucking dead now. Tossed aside like fucking compost." Mordin nods, in either agreement or understanding Garrus doesn't know, and falls silent as she steps away and scraps the bottom of her boot on a dry patch of 'rock', leaving behind a smear of rancid fluids.

"Hey, Captain," McKnight calls from a few paces away, examining what seems like the first active tech they've found so far, more pods beside him. "Come check this out."

Closer examination of the pods reveals not a human, but a Collector. It is dead, not surprisingly considering the very obvious lab setup even if it's on such a strange ship belonging to such an odd 'species', but what is shocking is that it doesn't seem to have died from the usual suspects of wounds from battle. Its wounds look like they are intentional, as if surgically opened and examined.

"You think they experimented on their own?"

Solus, tapping fingers on his masked chin in deep thought and hypothesizing, nods to the man's question, drawing everyone's attention as he moves to the terminal. "Would be interested in collecting information." The young human takes that as his cue to step forward and begin accessing the terminal, one of the few able to tap into the tech aside from Jane – a question to ponder over later after finding out that she can, in fact, use the beam weapon they had obtained on Horizon despite needing nothing more than instruction of  _how to_. "First impressions seem that subject not of unique mutation, but possibly control representing whole. But what was the comparison subject?"

"Save it," she snaps as Knight finishes the last of his collection. "We got to keep moving."

He nods and motions to continue to lead, taking the center with McKnight as Garrus takes their six. "Of course. Collector ship not place to construct theories when answers only need translating."

Climbing higher through the strange, open caverns through which their pathways wind and lead, more pods can be see stretching out through the haze. Even his visor cannot break through the expanse of space, alluding to the possibility that this ship must not be made as most with logical support structures and internal compartments, but with some more organic form of colonization. Each step deeper and he feels more and more like this place is nothing but a giant insect hive as they believed at first.

As they step up into what seems to be the main chamber of the ship, stretching what seems like the entire length, his mandible falls slack in slight shock at the enhanced image of the walls and ceiling. "Shepard, those are…"

"Pods," she agrees with a flat tone. "This isn't just for the Terminus systems." She doesn't have to voice her worries as everyone already knows, there is no better source for human victims than their own home world. "It reminds me of Ilos almost."

He hums as he takes another look, trying not to see humans in those pods and rumbles when he actually does see it, the long corridor just before the found the Prothean VI, Vigil. A memory only the two of them would have as the only other member of their squad no longer leaves his throne of Tuchanka rubble. "Those pods along the walls, where the scientists thought they could sleep out the Reapers."

She snorts derisively, making him frown. "Yeah, and any colonists up there and dead, just like those fucking Protheans. Come on. Each second we're here is that much longer I get to feel really fucking bad about this. EDI's connection point should be close."

The closer they come to a more mechanical part of the large cavern, what must be the equivalent of a command terminal, the stronger the instinct in Garrus' veins becomes that something is wrong, the lower his unconscious and near silent growl of his vocals drops. There should be bodies of Collectors, or evidence of this supposed battle that had occurred with this mysterious Turian ship, internal signs of whatever crippling damage or signs that the occupants were at least injured. The complete lack leaves his talons tightening on his rifle in anticipation for the inevitable that always seems to come.

However, despite his misgivings, he gives a nod of assurance when his wife looks to him, their tech at the console setting up a bridge between the Normandy's computer and this one. It is but a moment before the ship stutters with a massive, tremor, console suddenly going dark and the pillars anchored around their position shifting, revealing themselves to be not columns, but some kind of pistons. Pistons that have mysteriously regained power with the ship and are disengaging the very platform they are currently standing upon.

"Uh… What was that?" The silver armored human holds up his hands from the console. "I swear, I didn't do it."

"Joker, EDI? What the fuck?" Shepard motions him to keep focused on his work as she silently commands the others to 'keep eyes and ears open', hand holding her weapon to rest against her hip. "What happened over there?"

"Weirdest thing. Big power surge. We went dark, but we're back up. And, uh, I don't think it was an accident."

"I was able to divert the overload from the Collector's ship to non-critical systems," EDI supplies as movement picks up on his visor, snapping his attentions away from whatever else the AI is saying except for the very loud, very  _obvious,_ 'this was a trap'.

He, and he's sure everyone else, completely agrees with his mate's statement of 'no fucking shit' as they all undergo the jolt of vertigo as the ground starts to violently rise, the platform being the very literal definition of the term. It comes to a sudden stop high above their initial place, nowhere to go and very little cover but for the sparse railings along the death drop and the now dead terminal.

"EDI, we need a little  _assistance_ over here." Their missing hosts, trap sprung, begin to descend on their very own platforms, much more capable of control than their own, and they all scatter to take a cover. "Get your virtual ass back in their systems."

"I am having trouble maintaining connection. There is someone else in the system. Assistance from your side may also be needed to reestablish access to the Collector's databanks." At that, McKnight scrambles to the console, using it both as cover as he maintains proximity to offer assistance. The others, as their enemy approaches, surround his position, ready to offer covering fire. "Connection reestablished. I need to finish the download before I can override any systems."

Seeing a platform drop just in time to offer him a shot, Garrus sights down the scope and pulls the trigger, taking down one of the giant bugs before it could even pull the trigger. "Get it done, EDI, we're open targets if any of them decide to stick to the higher vantage."

"Yeah, well let's hope they aren't smart enough to think of it," he sees his mate pull a drone right out from behind his hiding spot just as Mordin throws a fiery ignition at its partner, "Or that they heard you and take up your idea, you traitor."

He chuckles at her actually able to crack a joke, even if it wasn't too good of one. It's a sign that, even if her guilt over not being able to save these colonist comes back up later to haunt her, she is in the moment, the right now, and her mind is on the fight. Battle is never something to laugh and joke around with, he spent enough of his childhood having that drilled in his head, but, with her, for her, it means that she is clear headed and focused, and that is better than any sort of  _discipline._

"Platform incoming. Suggest speeding up Artificial Intelligence!"

"Thank you, Mordin." She stands up to quickly roll into a better cover, switching her shotgun for her pistol. "Where would we be without your wonderful insight? Hey, Princess! Use that fancy gun of yours on that armored bastard."

" **You are arrogant, Shepard, you will learn**."

Garrus pauses at that voice, the first sound from their enemy that wasn't the pained moans of husks or warbling clicks and gurgles, and looks to his mate. Her body is rigid, whatever biotic attack stilling into a blue aura around her free hand, and her usual comeback is gone, most likely replaced with the sudden shock and confusion at this thing not only speaking,  _but recognizing her and calling her **by name**._

" **We are the Harbinger of your ascendance.** "

That seems to snap her out of it, a growl in her voice as she motions to Mordin, "Light this fucker up. We'll show them 'ascendance'." Her helmet turns his way and he nods, completely understanding his orders, 'break through their armor'.

Waiting for Solus to send out his incineration, Garrus follows with a piercing round, shattering a huge hole in the exoskeleton protecting the Collector that's alight with an eerie, red glow. Unbelievably, it doesn't even flinch from the hit, never faltering in its biotic like throw of energy in his direction. He ducks under cover just as the pulsating orb of shadow and fire crashes against his cover, splashing and surging over the partial wall like flowing hot plasma, burning at the gaps in his armor where he has only thick undersuit for maneuverability and mobility.

His comm must have been active, for not a moment after releasing a low growl beneath his breath his wife is there, overriding his armor into releasing soothing medigel. "EDI, get your holographic ass in gear and get us out of here!" Jane shouts over the comm as she holds a hand to his chest, insisting and demanding in all one move to 'sit still and let the gel set, you stubborn bastard'. If they weren't in the middle of battle, beams of energy from McKnight's weapon buzzing over their heads mixed with Mordin's bullets and returning fire from their enemy, he'd chuckle in amusement at how well he can read her just by actions alone, but now is not the time as he reaches for his rifle, only to have it yanked from his talons by small human hands.

His brows brow plates rise in both surprise and intrigue, a low growl of arousal that he really shouldn't be having right at this moment erupts in his throat at the sight of her resting the weight of the weapon on their cover, helmet tilting to sight down the scope. Watching her, he sees her chest expand, still for a fraction of a second, then release and decompress the trigger in time with her exhale, the recoil slamming the butt of the massive rifle into her small frame. It's an impressive sight, not a perfect stance or shot, but pretty damn good as it sends the strange Collector puppet into a burst of flames and fluttering debris.

In the midst of the gunfire, the Normandy reconnects into their comms, EDI imploring in her usual calming monotone, "Shepard, my link to the command console must be manually reestablished in order to complete the data transfer."

"Yeah, yeah," She responds as she drops beside him behind cover, handing over his rifle. "We seriously need to work on your long distance connections, EDI." Popping up, she uses a pull to yank a Collector off their platform before Garrus follows up with a bullet through the head. "You heard the computer lady, Princess, get on that console. We'll cover you while your ass hangs out in the open."

The human man nods in understanding, swapping weapons for something lighter for speed and ease. Just as he bolts over the platform to the console, the other three covering his advance and return to their starting place, they hear a voice, one that, apparently, does not exist in one Collector alone.

" **Assuming control of this form** ," the mechanical, menacing voice bellows as a Collector form lifts, glowing with an internal inferno before collapsing to the ground, aura of pulsing glow surrounding it.

 _Guess that answers the question of why the glowing ones are so much more powerful than the others, less hive minded. Focused on Jane_ , he thinks with a growl, focusing his sights down his rifle and firing a concussive round before following with a piercing round.  _Something is controlling these Collectors and whatever it is smells an awful lot like Reaper to me. Seems like the paranoid and controlling Illusive Man might be right, after all._

Even with its added strength and biotic-like powers, the controlled Collector falls under the combined attentions of all four of them, the last of their foes disintegrating into a fiery inferno, its last words of threat. " **You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard**."

"Alright! We're up and running, Shepard," Margo shouts from his place at the console, the platform beneath their feet stuttering before lifting, albeit much steadier than the first time. "EDI's mining the data we need. Might even get us some extra dirt on our little robot bug friends."

"Save it," Garrus snaps as he listens closely, hearing something suspiciously like the last thing they want to hear over the sound of the platform they are on resettling into what could be considered 'ground'. He growls and motions to his helmet, knowing she'd understand. "We might want to start moving, Shepard."

"Shit's hitting the fan, huh?" She nods and loops her hand in the air in silent 'let's move' as she starts to lead the way back with a faster step than before. It may be a risk to move through these unknown corridors so quickly, but with the time limit and EDI directing them through the ship, they may only have to worry about laying down fire to cover their exit.

As they rush through skirmishes trying to slow their way, they make it to a large room with multiple exits and high ceilings. Taking quick cover at the high ground while the other three drop down to start clearing the floor of rushing husks, making sure to take down those that come armed with a gaseous pouch in their stomachs that react violently in the air to cause a disorienting explosion, Garrus starts to see what both he and Jane had hoped, despite their usual luck, not to see.

"Damn it," he growls over the comm as he sights down the field, firing a bullet through the center most eyes of a Collector troop. "Heads up. We got a tank, across the field."

"A Praetorian? Damn," McKnight switches his weapon for the heavy powered beam while Jane swaps for the Cain, glancing to Garrus for approval which she should know she always has, he trusting in her judgment in the heat of the moment in battle. At least not until there's a better time a place that usually consists of the safe and warmth of their Loft where they usually tend to handle those things  _differently_. "Keep on the move. They tend to target one person and follow them until their dead."

"Fought one once, but thanks for the tip." Jane peeks over the cover long enough to be proven as the target as the massive machine zeroes in on her helmet, turning mid-flight. "Garrus, cover me!"

Not needing that sort of direction, the Turian scopes out the field and fires directly at the ground forces around the 'Praetorian', dropping its defensive and offensive supports. Hearing her pants in the comm as she starts to head for cover most likely further from the potential blast of her Cain, he growls when an unexpected voice joins into the clamor.

"Uh, Commander? The Collector ship's starting to show lots of activity over here. Better hurry before the main guns come online, I'm not losing another Normandy."

One more bullet into a Collector before Garrus growls low and threatening in the comm, not caring about his supposed 'truce of indifference' his mate forced on him towards the pilot. "Joker, get off the comm channel.  _Now_."

The reply is muffled thanks to the heavy smack of armor to his cover, heavy pants with a hint of amusement in them as Jane's armored chest heaves. "Man, I'm getting out of shape." She peeks out, trying to remain lost to the heavy machine as it searches for her. "Alright, here's the plan. Garrus, drop its barriers down and try to keep it at a distance. Mordin and Margo, find some damn good cover. And I need it done yesterday!"

Echoes of affirmations and gunfire sound over the comm as they move into action, the Turian sniper pulling up from his cover to lay down heavy concussive and piercing round combos, distracting and holding back the Praetorian as the other two find cover to weather the massive blast to come. Whether they are ready or not, Jane leans from cover, the tank machine close enough for a perfect shot yet far enough not to be able to slam the ground with its massive shockwaves, and pulls the trigger. Whirring to life, the Cain hums and clicks as it trembles and glows in his wife's small hands, firing a massive, pulsing orb of light and energy.

Grabbing her and yanking her down under his armored body, Garrus curls over his mate as his ears hear the soft buzz the writhing, seemingly alive mass of nuclear energy emits as it seeks its target. In a moment, the cavern is lit with a bright light, filled with a heat felt even through his undersuit, and a boom so loud his ears are left ringing despite his visor's muffling capabilities. It is only thanks to his visor, reading the massive, but diminishing, flare of powerful radiation as the only trace of massive energy output that he remains against his wife for a breath longer, both blinking and giving their heads a shake to come back to senses.

After that moment, he rolls off her, professional as ever, and grabs his rifle, checking the floor for any – as impossible as it may be – surviving foes. She, too, climb up and swaps her powerless Cain for her shotgun, hand going to her comm. "Report."

"No longer see any enemy forces," Mordin affirms.

"A little deaf and scuffed up, but all good, Shepard," comes the fourth of their team.

She nods and looks to him, a quick check over before she butts the barrel of her gun against his and moves onward. Rushing down the ramp and towards the open door accessed by the Normandy's AI. They are drawing close, the same halls they passed upon entering just within eye sight but too far to jump or drop safely, so they must still rely on EDI's directions, close to a sprint to beat the steadily increasing hum and drone of engines and universal ship-wide systems coming online.

Rushing around the corners of the slowing descending pathways, they begin to hear the hissing and pained moans of the tortured humanoid forms of the one blaring connection to the Reapers, the twisted forms of the mindless husks. Garrus curses under his breath as he slams the butt of his rifle into one's head, kicking it away for Jane to blast with her shotgun, giving him the opportunity to switch weapons. "Have I ever said how much I don't like husks?"

She chuckles as a large wave of energy comes from her body, plowing through the stampeding creatures. "Just beat them with your fists, it seems to work." She grunts as she forces another shockwave out of her body, giving the others a chance to either shot the downed husks or shove them off the unguarded ledge. "Keep moving! We're almost there."

Using a break in the flow of charging bodies, Garrus motions the other two forward to the visible shuttle, he and Jane covering their retreat between his assault rifle and her combined biotics and shotgun. He steps up into the shuttle, crouching and shooting one handed as he wraps his arm around her waist, giving her the chance to throw a last shockwave before quickly jerking her up and into the shuttle. McKnight immediately hauls the door shut, using his body's weight for momentum to yank it shut with a slam, and punching the locking mechanism.

"Get us the fuck out of here!," Jane shouts loud enough to be heard through her helmet, scrambling up off the floor to rush to the cockpit, as if her presence could hurry up the physics of the shuttle's capacity for flight. "Joker, haul ass the second we're on. The fucker aren't getting us without a fight!"

She slams a fist on the wall of the shuttle as she rushes back to the back, quickly flopping down and strapping in for the bumpy ride this is bound to be. Rumbling at her side in pride and confidence that this is nothing for them –  _they've done far crazier, after all_ – Garrus is a bit surprise when he looks over to see her helmet turned to his, her breath held as the shuttle wide monitors show them docking into the ship.

The momentums is strange to feel, making his gizzard knot as he feels the forceful shift from shuttle to ship. Their armors practically crashing against the harnesses and walls as Joker 'floors it' –  _whatever that specifically means_  – he feels a small hand take his, fingers locking together as the shuttle shakes, unsecured tools and weapons sliding across the floor as they dodge the Collector cannon fire that trembles the entire Normandy, sonic boom echoing in the massive cargo hold.

Collective breaths hold as they wait, anticipating the split second of determination. Will they succeed? Or is this Normandy to fall as the first?

It's a cold line of questioning and one that leaves Garrus growling low, hand tightening around his mate's. He knows why this one moment out of all before is the moment she reaches out to him in front of others without fear. Because the fear of dying again of the same fate is more devastatingly frightening than being seen as 'human', as something less than an icon.

Suddenly, the stillness breaks. Like breaking through the surface of water when fearing he's drowning, his body feels the momentarily sensation of suspension, the feeling of weightlessness, before it is gone just as quickly. Everyone exhales heavily, not just the shuttle, but the entire Normandy releasing the breath they all thought to be their last. Some huff a relieved laugh, McKnight jostling Solus with a bark of hysteric laughs as his body shakes from draining adrenaline. Even the hand in his own talons relaxes by a fraction, the sensation that green eyes smiling under a frosted glass, and he purrs as he looks to her, good mandible flaring as much as possible in a helmet as he squeezes her softly before letting her go.

"Jesus fuck," Jane says with a sigh and weak chuckle, leaning her head back against the side of the shuttle with a thunk. "Good work, everyone. Get us somewhere to rest, Joker, my ground crew needs a break. We all earned it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -SquigglySquid says: Damn.. it's been awhile. No, I didn't give up on Resurgence. In fact, I've felt really bad about falling behind, but I was suffering from chronic daily migraines that I had to see a doctor for. I've got meds now to fight it, so I plan to be back on the writing train. Let me know what you think and yes, I know it's just a rehashing of a mission and I don't normally do that, but this seemed important, after all. :)


	41. Chapter 41

-Jane-

She comes awake with a gasp, bolting upright in bed with the words " **You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard** " ringing in her ears and bright, glowing eyes hiding behind her lids when she blinks. Breathing fast, heart pounding in her chest, she fumbles blindly over the bed, hands searching the warm sheets for the comforting hardness of her only strength against the nightmares, both in her waking hours and dreams.

"I'm here," his voice heavy with sleepy vocals assures as his large, warm hand takes hers in the dark. Thumb caresses over the much softer skin of her hand as he gently tugs her down to him, a comforting rumble coming from his chest.

He doesn't ask if she had a nightmare, doesn't need to as it's just as redundant as her asking him if his bad nights are from his body's reactions to the diminishing stimulants in his system. They both know each other too well to ask needless questions, so, instead, he simply holds her, free talons combing through her sweat dampened and thrashing tangled hair.

"I failed, Garrus." Her voice is shaky from the draining adrenaline, heart slowing steadily under his ministrations. "All those people taken from Horizon, and I failed to save even a single god damn one."

A light twitch of his mandible against the sweat matted hair of her temple is a good of tell of his disagreement as he words when he speaks. "Our mission is not to save them, Jane, it is to avenge them. To ensure their deaths are not in vain." She frowns at the truth in his words, the cold facts that fight her every instinct to not want to be so helpless –  _so fucking useless –_ at the sight of turning her back on the owners of the toys and playthings left abandoned and unloved within the empty colony homes.

Nudging her chin up with a finger, he presses his forehead to hers with a soft, but deep, thrum. "We will stop them before they can ever attempt to reach Earth,  _you_ will stop them, and when you do, you will know you have not failed. You have never failed, Jane."

"I did, Garrus. Don't you get that?" She frowns and pushes his comfort away, hands balling into fists as she turns her back to him. "There were innocent people on that ship, in those pods, fucking  _kids_. And I couldn't do a damn thing, but turn my back on them, leave them to whatever fucked up shit was going on in there."

"They were dead before we even got there and you know it." The cold truth makes her flinch, chills her like the dead space behind the seemingly too thin ship hull. Her arms wrap around her ribs, for comfort or warmth she's too ashamed to admit or even acknowledge, but she doesn't lay long in her solitude before he is back, pressing into her back with a comforting purr as he holds her.

"Jane, I know it's hard after everything to see this much loss, to feel like you're unable to do anything but stand aside and watch it all play out, but you can't blame yourself for any of it. You are the only one trying to  _do_ something about it, trying to make the loss mean something." He nuzzles the back of her shoulder, the cold synthetic weave of his bandage contrasting against his warm facial plates. "Let that fuel you, not the guilt or regret in what you could not change or influence, but the vengeance for those who have fallen that you will bring down on them. 'Even if there is one left standing, the fight is not yet over'."

Despite herself, despite knowing it's insane to find such honest and unconditional support and comfort in something when so much is wrong around her, she huffs a weak chuckle, feeling his embrace tighten and purr strengthen. "Did you just quote Turian pep talk at me?"

"Depends, is it working?" Huffing out another soft laugh, she relaxes in his hold, feeling him curl around her, spooning her with his hard, angular body. "I'll take that as a yes, then," he says with a rumble, smirk audible in his voice as one of his legs tangles between hers, warming her even here.

"You're awfully confident we can win this, Garrus. Never took you for being optimistic."

"No," he agrees. "But if anyone can do it, it's you. Odds aren't good for any of us, but when have they been? Only difference now from Saren is we know what we're up against, what's at the other end of the barrel, and damn if that isn't only making things worse, but I guess it won't matter if we fail, right? We won't really be around to see it."

She snorts and shakes her head, rolling her eyes in the dark. "Real encouraging. You used to say that on Omega? 'Well, at least when the shit hits the fan, we won't be around to see it'?"

He shrugs and chuckles, running a hand through her hair. "No, I didn't say much of anything on Omega. I was a - what does Chambers call them – 'strong and silent type'?"

"No more hanging out with Kelly for you, or Kasumi, you're turning into a romantic."

"And that's bad?"

"You're starting to sound like Thane," she snorts and hears him hum in thought.

"'Siha'," he mimics, trying his best to make his voice sound gravelly and low, "'I was under the impression that everyone finds my mysterious nature appealing. Is that not the case?'"

Chuckling, she playfully reaches back and swats his thigh. "I had no idea you impersonation of Thane endows him with a serious smoker's lung, Garrus. And his 'mysterious nature' is okay, I guess, but he's much different company than everyone expects once you speak to him."

"Oh, you spending an awful lot of time speaking to him then?" he teases, she spending way too long with her mate to be able to hear the amused tilt to his voice when he's particularly being a shit. "Then I assume you know what his pet name means?"

She shrugs, looking over her shoulder to him, feeling his breath against her skin. "He has not. Do you know?"

"Yes and no. My sensitivities training in C-Sec only has us take basic studies in all cultures in order to have a working knowledge in case we ever come across individuals from any species. I just know it is something from their religion, but his intended reasonings for naming you that is something I can only guess." A pause before he shakes his head. "I don't think I want to know, to be honest. Might make a fool of myself if I react off instincts."

"Oh?" That raises her brow as she sits up, looking down at him in the dark. "Is someone feeling jealous?"

"Of a man who clearing has his own religious pet name for you? How could I possibly feel any sort of emotion at that?"

"Knight has one for me," she adds, hearing him growl as he leans up to her, but she doesn't move, knowing he can see better in the dark than her and isn't surprised when he stops just before colliding, his mandibles ghosting over her chin when he speaks.

"That's different. He calls you that because he thinks of you more a Captain than a Commander. It is a simple confusion in chain of command from a freelancing mercenary." His voice is low, a sign that some of her teasing hit a bit to home. She knows it won't ever leave this room, he's a professional and knows the truth of their relationship, but it is an interesting insight into his views on their resident assassin. "Thane's name for you comes from his religion, one he is deeply devoted to. His resistance to explain his reasoning for it to even you is even more disconcerting."

"Garrus," she soothes with a hand under his jaw, feeling his mandibles relax a fraction at her touch. "While I love you being possessive and jealous, it's really unnecessary. Thane's a widower, with a kid at that, so there's absolutely nothing going on there. If I had to guess, perhaps I remind him of his wife."

"Not helping your argument," he deadpans, a good sign that his blood is cooling despite his words.

"He says she was his Siha because he stepped in front of his scope once on a mission to assassinate someone. I guess I remind him of that, that eidetic memory sort of thing." She shrugs and feels him relax completely, nuzzling against her neck and carding talons through her hair as he sits up completely. "Plus, he, along with everyone else on this damn ship, know about us and he hasn't so much as made a move on me. Hell, he even somewhat supported us after the whole Citadel fiasco."

He chuckles and nods. "I guess I can stay civil during sparring, then, but I'll remember that you 'love me being possessive and jealous'."

His good mandible flares out against her neck in a smirk that leaves her rolling her eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Probably not," he rumbles as he presses his mouthplates to her lips in a tender kiss, with just a flicker of tongue. "Go ahead and get dressed, we should debrief the crew before fueling up here on Illium."

She mock sighs in exasperation. "Our work never ends." The Turian shaped shadow nods with a chuckle as he climbs from bed, heading towards the tank to flood the room with the soothing blue light, the fish within greedily swimming to the surface as he feeds them. "Hey, Garrus? Thanks."

"For what?" he questions with a raised brow.

"For making sense of all this," she motions around the room with her free hand as she pulls on her uniform pants on over her panties, "the Collector bullshit. For being here when I wake up thinking shit." She huffs a weak laugh, void of any humor and full of self-reproach. "Fuck, it's only thanks to you that I'm still 'Commander Shepard'. I'd probably be dead or some brain-dead husk if not-"

"Enough," he growls, suddenly before her, undersuit pulled up around his waist and hands cupping her face. "You are always that woman everyone needs, nothing has changed. I haven't given that back to you because you haven't lost it, you just need a chance to remove the armor, to be the woman I married, I bonded to. For that, you never have to thank me for."

Unable to speak, unable to say anything but 'thank you' even when that doesn't even cover it, doesn't even explain the overflow of emotions she has in his presence, she simply nods. Like finally able to surface for air, take that golden gasp of fresh air once her helmet comes off or she steps onto the surface of an actual planet, he is that break from the weight on her shoulders, the ever tight noose around her neck. Through it all, he seems to understand, leaning down to nip lovingly at her lips before letting her dress as he replaces his armor for the day.

Moments later, they are both dressed, he armored as well, and heading down the lift to the second deck. It has only been a few short hours since their harrowing exploration into the falsely inactive Collector ship, and Jane not only wants to hear what her crew has found, but has to also report those findings to the Illusive Man, a conversation she's  _just dying to have_.

Walking into the Conference Room, she finds the majority of the crew already in attendance, the rest trickling in. "Morning, everyone," she greets tiredly, feeling like most of them look after only a mere 4 hours between narrowly escaping and docking here. "I know it's early, some of us haven't even bathed, but we need to go through this before we officially dock onto Illium, so piss off then. Let's start with what we found. McKnight? Did you manage anything useful from the shit we found?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nods, hair tangled still from his helmet and still in the thick undersuit of her armor, a sign he hadn't slept the whole time they have been in flight but perhaps an hour or so. "I was able to analyze the readings of the Collector's defenses as well as the few scraps of armor I managed to grab during our fights. With it, I can upgrade out defenses, make our armors more resistant to some of their weaponry, or at least extend the period of time we can be under fire before we go critical." He grins, his cheeks greasing and covered in grime. "I even managed to find a way to make us at least one, maybe two sets of armor from their exoskeleton material."

She chuckles and shakes her head. "Yeah, no. I'll leave the bug armor to you. I want to kill them, not look like them. Send me a requisitions for the materials you need for the upgrades. Any way we can use that to mod our own weapons?" He nods. "Great, send me the data on that as well, and a second copy to Miranda. One of us can get you the supplies. Mordin, how about your findings? Any idea what those fuckers were doing to one of their own?"

How the Salarian manages to look just as energetic and active as any other day, she'll never, or ever  _want_ , to know. He nods and opens his tool, accessing the table's holographic interface to show the room some strange, spiraling figures. "Data points to running genetic tests between species of Human and Collector. Were comparing similarities, determining any differences. Only preliminary results, cannot determine motives or hypothesis trying to confirm. Did, however, reveal very intriguing information."

"Fucking spit it out already!" A clearly cranky and half asleep biotic yells from her corner where she's trying to, unsuccessfully, catch a few moments of rest.

He huffs at being interrupted, but continues on at Jane's hand motion. "Quadruple helix strand of DNA found within test sample. Only one known species recorded to have such complex genetic structure and only found from highly degraded samples spend under extensive reconstruction. Also have matched alleles to already confirmed samples. Collectors are descended from Protheans."

"What?" she snaps, head moving from the confusing imagery she'd never possibly come to understand to the Salarian geneticist. Very audible gasps, grunts, and huffs of disbelief, shock, or outright disinterest echo through the room as some of the crew interesting in hearing this out move closer. "You telling me a species that supposed was wiped out  _fifty thousand_ years ago is really the Collectors? How hasn't anyone noticed this before?"

"Understand disbelief. Have never had chance to examine Collector samples, compare with existing samples and knowledge. Was not expecting outcome of tests. Presents interesting conclusion." He brings up a new imagine, closing in on one of the strands. "Here. Signs of genetic rewrite, modification. Extreme modification never possible through natural processes. No longer Prothean genetically. More outcome of forced evolution. Possible Reapers repurpose select number for needs. Was even able to narrow down to specific colony once existing in Styx Theta cluster."

She holds a hand up to stop him before he begins to details out his entire four hours of testing and researching –  _how the hell he managed this all in that short of time, I'll never know_. "Look, point is that we're probably doing these fucks a favor by killing them. They are no different from the pawns we fought under Saren, only this is thousands of years under the Reapers. Fuck, and now we have even more reason to point to them. Only they could do this. Mordin, is there a possibility that that's what they were experimenting on the humans for?"

"Unable to determine. Sample from human too degraded to yield proper results. Data within Collector systems not complete. Can only hypothesize."

"So, in other words, you have no clue," she explains, nodding. "Alright, EDI, tell me we at least got what we needed from that fucking ship."

The spherical blue of the ship's hologram appears, Mordin's presentation disappearing to five the AI its turn at the stage. "You are correct. I found data that could help us successfully navigate the Omega 4 relay. I am currently decrypting it, correlating, and translating the data. I have also found some additional information that were unusual. Perhaps you may find it of interest."

Jane lifts a brow and looks at Miranda, wondering if she knows that EDI has to say, but the woman looks just as new to the information as her. "Go ahead, EDI. Was is it?"

"Mr. Moreau had me run an analysis on the Collector ship shortly after reaching a safe distance. I was able to find another instance besides the colony of Horizon where you encountered this ship. When I compared the EM profile against data recorded by the original Normandy's 'black box' two years, it was an exact match."

Jane is left speechless, her body chilling from that ever present cold of space in her veins, and she hears Tali gasp in shock as Garrus growls, leaning closer to the hologram as if it were an actual thing and not the play of light. "No wonder that thing knew your name," he snaps, hands gripping the edge of the table. "The Collectors wanted your body for who knows what and now? As if we needed any more reasons to have known that mission was a trap we willing walked into."

"Shepard," EDI interrupts, "I also found the Turian distress call that served as the lure for the Collector's trap. The Collectors were the source. Its circumstance are unusual."

"Explain."  _And try not to give my husband reason to punch a hoed through the table if at all possible._ While nice to see someone getting mad who can show actually show the inner anger and confusion she's feeling, she knows a massive, pissed Turian tends to makes people uneasy, even if they're starting to become more than just a crew.

"Turian emergency channels have secondary encryption," the AI supplies as Garrus nods subtly, a small sign that EDI is right whether or not they really could doubt her. "Though it is present within the Collector signal, it is corrupted. It is not possible that the Illusive Man would believe the distress signal was genuine. I found the anomaly with Cerberus detection protocols. He wrote them."

That does it, breaks the fragile hold on Archangel Garrus seems to have, and his armored fist slams down, hard, onto the table, causing EDI's image to static and break up. "That manipulative – translator glitch that leaves everyone's ears ringing but Jane's, who has gotten used to the occasional break of her husband's calm and silent demeanor – sent us into Collector hands," he snarls, turning to Miranda. "Wouldn't send us after a fake signal, would he?"

The raven haired bitch –  _and under other circumstances Jane wouldn't be so quick to call her such if not for the current look of naïve disbelief, of **undying support** , on her face _– merely shakes her head, crossing her arms. "There is obviously a reasonable explanation. The Illusive Man would never take such a risk blindly."

"Such loyalty to a man behind a hologram, I'd like to test his loyalty to  _you,_ " her mate snaps, vocals leaden with heavy, hateful growls.

"Fuck her up!" Jack shouts, awake at the first sign of a fight against her 'Cerberus cheerleader'.

"Enough!" The 'Commander' demands, scowl heavy on her features. "The Illusive Fucking Prick set us up, it's pretty fucking obvious, Miranda, and even you see it." She turns fiery green eyes on her mate. "But that doesn't mean we start ripping into each other's throats. You want to be pissed at someone, be pissed at the man who sits in his nice, comfy chair smoking those fucking cigarettes of his safe and sound while he plays puppet master with us,  _not_  one of our own. That goes for all of you. Lawson, you may be a blind bitch and I don't know what he ever did to earn that, but get his balls out of your eyes, his dick out of your mouth and see that he's screwing us all."

The woman purses her lips at the insult, but drops her eyes, not willing to fight what she must obviously see some sort of truth in. "Everyone, get the hell out and get some rest, then get off my fucking ship. You have ten hours of leave before I call the Illusive Man and EDI finishes with that data, I want you all here for the debrief. Dismissed," she snaps with a wave of her hand, turning to her husband to give him a scolding glare.

"Don't give me that look." Arms cross over his chest as he leans to the table, the crew easily empting out at the prospect of leave, if only for a few hours.

"I'll give whatever look I please, you were out of line. Attacking the crew?"

He snorts dismissively. "I never touched her."

"Not what I meant and you know it." She sighs and shakes her head, rubbing between her brows, head pounding from tiring day and little, but frantic, sleep. "You need to keep Archangel under control, Garrus."

She knows he  _is_ Archangel, that there is no switch between the two, but it's become a sort of means to gauge his moods, to give name to the swing in his attitudes, his natures. He has always been that man even before he received a name, but it's still easy to believe, when looking in as an outside, that Garrus can change into an entirely different person from the one he is around others. Perhaps abolishing the rule of silence and secrecy has allowed him to truly be himself, even if it includes the hot tempered, aggressive nature that Omega had seen so much of.

"Jane," his calm voice draws her from her thoughts, hands cupping her head and gently swirling thumbs over her temples. "I won't apologize for my actions, for letting my anger get the best of me. You and I both know that what happened down there could have been prevented had we known, had we been sent in with full knowledge of the field. Lawson may claim she is with you, but if she continues to support the Illusive Man, then what will happen when you finally do something against his will? Whose side will she be on? I won't let someone betray you as they did me."


	42. Chapter 42

-Garrus-

Finishing up the last changes to his firing algorithms, Garrus barely notices the low swish of the door, but it's the lack of the usual confident footsteps or closing proximity of his mate he is used to. That catches his attention and, instead of the usual greeting he gives over his shoulder, he turns to see who would actually be coming down to his place down in the Main Battery.

"McKnight?" He blinks a bit in surprise at the human standing at the edge of the threshold, not quite stepping into the threshold. "Is there something you need?"

"Uh, yeah, actually." He fidgets a bit before motioning with his hand in silent request to enter, which Garrus answers with a raised brow and nod. "Well, I was wanting to know if you knew where the Captain might be? I looked up in the CIC and Miri- sorry, Miranda- said you're the best person to ask"

Crossing his arms with a quirk to his brow at the 'Miri' slip, Garrus leans against his console. "She is off-ship catching up with a former crewmember."

"Wow… I'm just surprised you aren't with her." He chuckles with a smile. "You two are joined at the hip a lot of times."

 _Except for when she insists on going with Tali to visit the very woman who sold her away to Cerberus because she just **has** to find out who a small locket belongs to out of all of Illium. _"I'll be meeting up with her as soon as I finish up these calibrations, but that's for shore leave," he adds with a look at the younger man, his smile turning sheepish under scrutiny. "So I suggest you send her a message, she'll get back to you  _after_."

"Uh… sure." Margo drops his head, scratching anxiously at the stubble along his jaw. "I just, with this whole mission probably being  _The One_  for all of us, I wanted to get all my things in order, mark off that one thing. You know?" Sighing as he reaches back to turn off his terminal, the Turian motions with a hand to speak. "Really? You'd pass on the message?"

"No," Garrus explains. "I'll tell her what it is you want considering the fact that, if this entails any involvement from her which everyone's tasks usually do, then I'm going to be hearing of it either way. At least here, she won't feel obligated to help you before getting a moment's rest for herself."

"Right, sure. Well," he sighs a runs a hands through his hair. "I wasn't always a Freelancer." He huffs a laugh, "Actually, I never really  _thought_ about anything even involving guns or… all this stuff." He motions the ship with a smile as he chuckles. "Could you believe that I actually tend to find more comfort in paint and a brush?"

"That's actually not the most outrageous thing I can come to believe."  _Especially considering my own wife's hobbies outside of charging blindly into the middle of uncountable odds or inventing new insults for people._  McKnight nods with a considering quirk to his lips, probably assuming Garrus means all the strange revelations of their current foes and circumstances. "I take it this has something to do with what you're seeking Shepard out for?"

"Yeah, it does. See, there's this really expensive painting being moved for an exhibition here on Illium. And I, uh, kinda already accepted the job and half the payment before I signed on with you guys?" Another of those sheepish grins. "Just in case this doesn't all go sideways, it would be bad for business if I just left a customer hanging."

"What does this have to do with us?" Garrus asks with a hum and raised brow plate. "If you know what painting you're looking for, why not just ask Kasumi to help you steal it? I don't know if you've caught it, but my mate isn't exactly the best at the nuances of  _stealth_ or  _inconspicuous_."

The young man actually laughs at that, shaking his head in what can only be complete understanding and agreement. "True… but I'd like to get her help because, well, no offense, but I'm sure someone could run in with fireworks exploding off their back and no one would see them if Shepard were there."

"So, a distraction."

"Exactly." He smiles. "Do you think you could ask her? I promise I'll be completely in the game after it. Not another word from me." He makes a strange motion of pinching his forefinger in thumb, pulling them over his lips, and jerking it behind his shoulder, making Garrus rumble in confused questioning.

Shaking that off, the Turian gunnery officer nods. "Fine, I'll pass the message on, but I am not forcing her to end her leave ahead of time for this. She gets less time than everyone else on this ship as it is." He can't help the slight growl of aggravation in his voice, but the man either ignores it or doesn't hear it as he shrugs with a smile.

"Doing it after is cool. Thanks, Garrus," he says with a mock salute as he heads back down the ramp between sleeper pods. "I look forward to hearing if she's in. Thank her for me!"

Alone once again, Garrus shakes his head and looks to the console for the AI as he closes up his work for the day. "EDI, if anyone asks for my or Jane's location, remind them what  _off duty_ means."

"Understood. However, is yours or Commander Shepard's privacy is the matter of your concern, Operative Lawson or Shepard herself can invoke an Emergency Contact Only protocol."

"I only wish you could understand the irony in that statement after my most recent guest," he replies with a flick of his good mandible as he grabs his rifle from the workbench, holstering it before following with his assault rifle.  _Miranda – or 'Miri', apparently – would advertise our location out of spite, for all I know, and I'll be damned if she keeps me from enforcing at least a few hours of rest on Jane because it definitely won't be found anywhere near this ship._

The blue orb of the AI flickers in 'thought' before speaking. "Very well. I will remind anyone requesting the Commander of her orders to cease non-essential duties during the designated hours of 'shore leave'."

Its light flickers as Garrus steps out of his station, heading out of the Battery and through the Mess. As if to confirm his suspicion of something definitely odd transpiring between the Cerberus Operative and Collector tech expert, a glance to the sound of soft laughter sees her doors open, McKnight leaning over her shoulder to point something out on her terminal.

He fights the double take into the office, knowing his eyes or visor wouldn't lie or misread no matter how unbelievable to see the woman with the ice heart and high standard of herself with the light hearted Freelancer. On any other day, he'd be willing to doubt it possible, but he guesses the same could be said of his own relationship.

 _With luck, he may teach her some common sense_ , he thinks as he rides the lift to the next level up.  _Or at least – what's the saying – bring her down to Earth? She could certainly learn to start seeing the thing under her unfailing Illusive Man's mask. More power to whoever can do that, Jane certainly needs it._

Stepping from the lift and heading past the scarce crew occasionally stationed in the seats around the deck, he barely notices the Yeoman's head snap up from her terminal beside the layout of their galaxy. "Garrus, wait!" she shouts cheerily as she trots to catch up.

"Can it wait? I'm in the middle of-"

"-I just wanted to ask you and Jane if you wanted me to feed your fish for you." She smiles and motions the lift with a jut of her thumb. "I remember you two joking this morning in the Mess about how you don't know how they can still be alive. With how pretty they are in your cabin, I was just going to offer to feed them for you."

He lifts a brow plate. "Why would you want to go all the way up to our cabin just to feed our fish?"

He doesn't know if she actually tries to hide the slight exasperated roll to her eyes or not. "I understand that this mission is a stress on the Commander as well as everyone else on this ship. While it may seem like a small matter, taking care of fish, I believe that not only Jane, but even yourself, may benefit from the sight of flourishing life while fighting this seemingly impossible mission." She smiles a warm curve to her lips, different from that teasing smile when she jests with the other females on the ship. "I think that all the loss is getting to Jane. Perhaps the feeling of seeing something like the beautiful fish in their tank can help lift her spirits, make things seem a bit less hopeless."

Rumbling in thought, he nods and motions with a hand. "Just do it when she can't see you. If you can read that in her, I don't think I need to tell you what would happen if she believed you're doing it because you don't think she can do it on her own." He stops her protest with a raised hand. "You may have a degree in this, but I married her, so either do it in secret or not at all." Chambers nods, leaving it at that as she heads back to her terminal to give him his freedom to finally head out onto the docks in search of his mate.

He finds her shortly after within Eternity, sitting with her nose in a datapad in a corner booth with a nice view of the Illium even skyline. Chuckling at her complete obliviousness to the fact that she's a bar, a place where she should be relaxing instead of  _working_ , he heads to her table. "This seat taken?" he asks with a smirk and low thrum to his vocals.

"Depends." He can see her slight smirk around her pad. "You wouldn't happen to be a Turian who prefers his liquor to be strong enough to peel the paint off the side of a ship, would you?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Any other Turian would need something more akin to Ryncol to not be embarrassed by your inability to hold your own liquor." She snorts and playfully swats the datapad against his thigh guard before scooting over to give him room. "I assume that means I'm allowed in, your Majesty?"

"Get your ass in here before I toss your drink, Garrus," she snaps with a smirk, gently sliding the glass of crystal liquid over. "Don't make me make a scene."

He purrs in suggestive intrigue, but does as she says, sitting beside her and taking the glass of offered liquor, scenting it before taking a burning sip. "Damn," he growls appreciatively with a shake of his head. "Where's yours?"

She chuckles and motions a bubbly drink. "Only carbonated soda for me. I have some things to do before we get back to the grind in a few hours. Besides, I love the taste of you after you've had a few," she supplies with a smirk as he growls. "So it's best to be sober to fully enjoy it."

Humming around another sip, he then flicks a finger at the pad on the table. "You aren't supposed to be working." She shrugs at that, making him narrow his eyes and grab the pad, flicking it on. "What is  _so_ important that you have…" He trails off as he reads something mentioning his Omega persona. "What is this?"

"Hmm? Oh, that?" She chuckles and lifts a brow. "Turns out that you turned heads back on the Citadel when you went after Sidonis. More specifically when we wiped out that good portion of Blue Suns and kneecapped Harkin, taking him out of the forgery business. One head in particular."

"You're really going to make me read this after already getting alcohol in my system?"

She snorts as takes the pad to read it to him. "As if you could get drunk on two sips, you lazy bastard." Scrolling through, she reads. " _It has come to my attention of your unique relationship with the one that many from Omega had deemed 'Archangel' and, thus, his involvement in the most recent occurrences on the Citadel. Specifically, those concerning the man known as Fade and his business of providing counterfeit identifications. While I do not openly confess to appreciate the elimination of the men who work under me, I, as a man well versed in the realities of war, hold no ill will for the deaths of a soldier falling under the mightier sword, so to speak. Suffice it to say, I also will not fault someone for eliminating a rather unsatisfactory squadron under my command that had strayed. I may, in fact, find myself in the unusual position to owing what you may consider 'a favor' to these very individuals._ "

Every word from her lips run through his head- knowing him, what they had done, command of those protecting Harkin, owing a favor? – Garrus holds a hand out for the datapad to read over it himself, eyes darting over the very lengthy, very well worded message when they land on a particular name. "That's impossible," he says with wide eyes. "There's no way the Citadel head of the Blue Suns would be not only messaging you, but offering 'a favor'."

"Not to mention that he all but said Tarak deserved all the shit you did you him on Omega," she adds with a chuckle and a disbelieving shake to her head. " _And_ so did Harkin and all those little fuckers defending him. Gotta say, it'd be a hell of a boon to actually be able to trust that favor."

Sighing before taking another sip, this one much smoother on his tongue, he shrugs, unable to really come to terms with the fake that yet another unlikely suspect has stepped forward with something entirely unimaginable to offer. "I'd say keep him in mind. While still something I think we should keep at a distance, it's not everyday someone with as much power in the criminal organizations so deep seeded on the Citadel as Arcanus Reguix offers something like that." He sees her nod in consideration and agreement as she takes a sip of her fizzling drink. "Did you manage to find anything out about that locket?"

At that, Jane smiles warmly, looking to him with those bright emeralds. "Yeah," she assures with genuine happiness in her voice and painted through her features. "It belonged to a woman's daughter. She said it was the last piece of her father she had." She looks down at her hands on the table. "She thanked me… this little tiny Asari." A chuckle as he purrs and covers her thigh with a warm, supporting hand, his good mandible flaring into a smile. "She was cute, Garrus. You can't imagine how fucking happy that that stupid shot in the dark panned out."

"You've always beaten odds, whether it be on the battlefield, or finding the one little girl a lonely locket belonged to on this huge planet," he agrees with a chuckle when she snorts and playfully bumps her shoulder to his. "I take it you're quite proud of yourself?"

His mate huffs out an unamused laugh. "You're just jealous because  _you_ were too busy playing with your gun," she counters with a smirk, the double entendre making him nearly choke on his drink as his vocals kick into gear with the slide of her hand along his thigh. "For that,  _I'm_ jealous."

"Easy, Jane, or I might just end up doing something that'll get us permanently kicked out of Eternity," he warns with a flick of his good mandible and low rumble against her ear, loving her slight shiver and barely audible gasp.

"I doubt it," she tries to protest, heading most likely tilting into his breath without her consent or knowledge. "The Matriarch behind the bar might even encourage it."

Chuckling, Garrus dips to lick her cheek and up to her ear, making his wife make that soft gasp of a laugh he, and only he, gets to hear just when a shout out of the ordinary cuts through the din of the usual conversations, laughter, and music. The woman against him tenses as she looks around, he sighing and doing the same to see a human in heavy armor leaning over the bar, staring down the clearly unmoved Matriarch behind the bar.

"Hol-ly shit," his wife gasps with wide eyes of surprised shock, a shake of her head revealing the sight is not a trick of the eye or nonalcoholic drink she has. "Is that… holy fuck, it is."

Groaning, she nudges him out of the booth, still way behind on the revelation she's had.  _Damn drinks making me slow. Who is this and how does Jane know him?_

"I know you sell Red Sand here and I'll do whatever it takes to stop you. You wanna know how far I'll go?" the unidentified man threatens as Jane practically stomps towards him and the bar. "I learned how to shove a gun in people's faces from-"

"Verner, you jack ass!" Her shout turns heads, including her unfortunate target.

Spinning, now familiar eyes wide with a giddy grin barely cracking the 'tough guy' façade. "Commander Shepard?" Garrus sighs at recognizing the insufferable human that had the knack to show up and yell for his mate's attention whenever they happened to be on an important task for something completely trivial.  _What did Wrex once say? Right, can I just shoot him?_

"Wonderful," Jane's Matriarch bartender drones as she examines a glass in the light. "If you know this idiot, can you rein him in before I slap his ass with a Singularity and charge him for taking the entertaining away from the dancers?"

With a nod, the annoyed red head looks to her 'fan' as he continues, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the obvious. "Shepard, is it really you?" He steps closer, too close that it makes Jane curl her lip in distaste as she leans ever so slightly away and Garrus give off a low growl of warning that the man either doesn't pay attention to or hear. "It's  _me,_ Conrad-"

"-No shit," she spits as she crosses her arms, eyes scanning over the very familiar –  _and questionable_ – armor the man is sporting. "What the hell are you doing here, in ' _N-_ 7' armor, no less?" A red brow raises as he puffs up in pride. "So, I got to know, where'd you get it?"

"Oh, they make really convincing replicas these days. If you're willing to pay, why, it could match even the real thing. Look, Shepard, I'm only doing what I know you would have wanted. You were a hero, showing everyone what humanity could do." His brows furrow. "But then you  _died_. The Galaxy needed someone like you, we all did. So I had to do something."

"Bound to get yourself killed is more like it," Garrus snaps, ignoring his wife's look to 'just drop it'.

"Hey, I remember you. You used to be on Shepard's crew back when – hurk!" He's cut off when a three fingered hand grabs the lip of the fake armor and yanks the man up so that his toes barely ghost over the floor.

"I'll explain a few things to you and I'll take it slow, so it may just get through your thick skull this time. One, Red Sand is legal on Illium. Two," he growls as clenching his fist, hearing the knock-off armor crack and eventually break under his hand, dropping Conrad like a heavy weight where he then steps closer, holding him down with his sheer presence, "Your armor is not only useless against any real combat, but is a disgrace to any and all those who actually  _deserve_ to wear it, your 'hero' included. Third, any and everything you do in the name of 'Commander Shepard' is only harming her cause because you can and will ultimately fail with the task becomes more difficult than the task of being a nuisance. Last, but certainly not least, if I ever see or hear of you trying to my  _mate's_ name for your own glory and public image, I will find you and I will make sure you more than  _hear_ my distaste for you."

"Garrus." A hand lands on his shoulder, easing him back. "He gets the picture. Conrad, get out of here. And leave the fighting to real soldiers."

Scrambling to his feet, he gives a last scolding look at the scarred Turian before thinking better of it and quickly collecting up as many pieces of his shattered neck guard as he can. "I can't believe after everything you'd be so hateful, Shepard! I believed in you!"

Growling as the man disappears into the crowds, a few heads following and shaking in whatever observations, Garrus looks to his wife. "What?"

"'What?'" She parrots with a smirk. "How about the whole 'I'll kick your ass, Verner' move you just did?"

His brows drop in unmoved scrutiny. "I don't sound like that."

"How would you know? You're drunk," she snorts and nudges his shoulder, nodding at the thanks from the bartender. "Come on, my mean and grumpy drunk. Let's get to the ship. I've grown tired of the loud bar music and would much rather make some music of our own."

"Goddess, please leave my bar before I have to throw you out."

That has Jane laughing as she loops her arm in his, her joy bringing some for himself as he purrs and smiles down at her as they make their way through the crowd. Walking along the nighttime trading floor, even if he himself is in full armor, it's almost as if they are simply a couple enjoying their night out as he nudges her chin with a talon to lean down and kiss her, loving her own taste with any added flavors as much as she does his.


	43. Chapter 43

-Jane-

"Remind me again why I have to wear  _this_?" Jane motions the long gown from the backseat of the skycar. "It's even worse that the fucking thing Kasumi made me wear."

"Ouch, Shep." Hooded lips smirk from the rearview mirror from her place in the front beside Margo. "Here I thought you looked fantastic."

"Hey, at least you gave me something I could carry a gun in," she huffs a breath to blow a curl from her face, crossing her arms in a pout. "Don't expect me to be able to make any facial expressions with how much concealer you plastered on my face either."

McKnight, actually made up nice in the driver's seat, chuckles. "No offense, Captain, but those glowy scars aren't really black tie appropriate." She snorts and rolls her eyes and she shifts in her seat, trying to get used to the long dress constricting her legs.

"Hey, scars are sexy. Right, Garrus?"

The Turian beside her dressed down from his usual armor to a mix-matched set of barely functional light ballistics common among petty street thugs shrugs. "Considering that I have to be the one mugging you once you buy this painting? Apparently not."

"From cop to vigilante to mugger in no time, flat," she says with a smirk. "You know, usually people step  _up_ in life."

He hums and flicks a mandible in exasperation as he tries to shift his cowl guard more comfortably, ignoring the explanation from the 'masterminds' upfront. "Garrus is perfect for the part of the greedy criminal seeing an easy target in a 'defenseless' gallery patron," Goto elaborates as she lifts her tool up to show a basic layout of the gallery. "Miss Gunn-"

"I hate that name."

"-you and I will be within the galley for the auction," she continues, ignoring the interruption as Jane huffs and fiddles more with her dress. "McKnight here will stay within the distance to ensure we purchase the correct work."

"Then why aren't you dressed?" Jane motions the typical hooded outfit the thief seems to have so many of, in multiple colors even. "As far as I'm concerned,  _this_ ," she motions the high collared ebony and gold dress with the plunging neck line, "isn't the same as what you're wearing."

The young woman smirks as she disappears in the seat with a shimmer. "It won't matter like this."

"Figures," she snorts dismissively as she adjusts the top of her dress  _yet again_.

"Would you quit?" her mate asks with an annoyed rumble and raised brow. "I doubt you'll blend in doing  _that_." He motions at her hands constantly trying to adjust the fabric over her breasts and chest.

"I can't fucking help it… this thing's fucking uncomfortable. Or  _too_ comfortable – I can't tell. Unless you  _really_ want me walking around with headlights blaring?"

"Ah!" Margo shouts with a wince. "I am really starting to question my idea to bring you guys," he rushes out as his cheeks darken just a shade more flushed.

Jane laughs as Garrus looks around, confused by the obvious human specific saying. "'Headlights'?" Snorting, she nudges his shoulder, making him look as she holds her hands against each side of her chest and points with her forefingers straight out, quirking a brow. "Oh… yeah, don't do that." His hands push hers away from her own chest. "Or that while you're there."

"Well, considering I don't have control of one, I have to do the other," the Commander responds with a chuckle. "So am I not allowed to touch if I happen to pop out? Or are we all in agreement to just let the girls get some air when they need it for sake of not touching myself around the  _sophisticated_ Illium people?"

"Neither," her husband deadpans with a stern look, making her shrug.

"Tell Kasumi she should have gotten me a bigger dress. One where my boobs are threatening to spring for freedom with so much as a sneeze."

"Don't blame me. I just used the same measurements of your dress from Hock's party," the hooded woman says from her hidden place in the 'empty' front seat.

"You saying I'm fat?" A red brow lifts in question as the car slows upon their first stop where they will leave Garrus behind before heading to the auction. "Garrus, she's calling me fat."

"Don't know how seeing as how you don't eat," he replies as they set down, their doors lifting open with a hiss. When the two of them step out, he to take position and wait the order to move and her to take Kasumi's place in the front seat, he goes to her side, lowering his voice. "Try not to attract attention while you're there. If things go as usual, I'd be really surprised, but you can never be too certain."

Jane chuckles and pats his arm. "Good think I'm packing then, huh?" When he lifts a brow plate, she pats her thigh. "You should know I always pack heat."

"Right, a holster under a skirt you were complaining about not even be able walk in," he deadpans with a shift to his brows in condensation.

"Hey, you little shit," she scolds with a finger, stopping when he actually makes sense. "Fuck it, give me you knife." Cutting him off when he is mostly going to ask 'why', she insists. "Come on, hand it over, may hands won't look as nice."

Giving in with a huff, he removes the combat knife from the holster at his hip, flipping it in his hand to offer the handle to her. She takes it, ignoring the question looks from everyone, Kasumi even decloaking to look to Margo in confusion. Using her fingers at her hip to gauge a measurement, she uses the sharp point of the blade to slice through the fabric, all the way to the floor, to create a slit.

"Ah," she sighs aloud to drown out Knight's exasperated protest. "Much better. Now I can walk  _and_ run  _and_ grab my weapon." She smirks and shows the group that she can, in fact, move much easier and that the new adjustment doesn't actually look too out of place.  _And if Garrus' appreciative stare and growl at seeing some leg isn't worth it anyways, I don't know what is._

"First, can you really run in  _heels_?" She chuckles at the man's question, looking over her shoulder to him.

"My skills are limitless, Miss Margo," she jokes, poking fun at both his 'Princess' nickname as well as the ever curious thought of who in their right minds would name their son  _Margo, for Christ's sake_. "So do not doubt my capabilities while in six inch heels."

He shakes his head of possibly diving further down that rabbit hole. "Okay, never mind I asked. Last thing, are we all clear on our roles before we actually get into the midst of it?"

"You still haven't explained  _why_ this is so important," Jane insists with a raised brow as she approaches the man standing beside the car. "What leads a Freelancer dealing in Collector tech to take a job pushing some shitty art?"

"Hey," he scolds with a bit of a frown. "There are some people who have a lot riding on getting this art back, it means something to them."

"Answer my damn question, McKnight." She scowls, crossing her arms in stern scrutiny. She knows there's something more than a simple job the man would rather not leave undone. Everyone, without fail, that has and will come to her will all have a personal hand in each thing they  _must_ complete before the very end they are all hurdling into. "Why the fuck do you care what happens to this painting? And I won't go further until you tell me."

"It's just…" He fidgets and adjusts the fit of his suit, probably used to wearing something not casual civvies or armor. "I guess you could say I'm close to the people who hired me. They can't do this on their own and it's cheaper for me to take the job than them try to pay off the gallery."

It's not everything she would have wanted, but it's more than going in blind and just out for some painting for shits and giggles. Sighing, she looks to her mate and nods her head in okay to head to wherever he has chosen to hide out the auction until his time to appear. He rumbles in understanding and, like a switch is flipped into releasing a whole other person, his stance shifts, back hunching a bit and even gait changing as he shuffles off into the dark of the alleys behind the buildings he will use to close in on their position when needed.  _Damn, that's fucking creepy as hell… and maybe a bit intriguing to see how well that ability could shift to_ _ **other**_ _activities._

Turning to her remaining crew, they make their way to the gallery in a heavy silence. Her disapproval in not knowing the whole truth is obvious, but either Kasumi doesn't know or have sworn to security and McKnight has obviously decided to stay firm in his decision. It doesn't matter so much to Jane now as she knows her job, to play a part, and she can definitely follow orders in the moment when it matters, but her crew member better be well aware that this isn't over.

She arrives when the auction has already begun, the sales of smaller pieces just now completing as she winds her way through the crowd, untouched glass of champagne in her hand. All the while, Kasumi's voice is in her ear along with Margo's, ensuring that her 'payments' for the piece will be completely covered with something the thief lovingly describes as 'Ghost Credits.' Whatever that means in terms of how it'll convince this place, Jane wouldn't even dare to guess, but she trusts in the woman who has better knowledge in this type of espionage work than anyone as she quietly finds a seat within the buyers' section of the auction hall.

"Remind me again how this works?" She whispers into her comm around the lip of her glass, pretending to sip the bubbling liquid.

"You're looking for an impressionist painting of a married couple running from an incoming rainstorm," the man hidden somewhere in the crowd says.

"Right… and what's 'impressionist'?"

Kasumi huffs a chuckle as he makes a noise with his lips in exasperation. "It looks like a bunch of brush strokes that make up the whole picture."

She nods as more people begin to settle around, the auctioneer making his way up to the stage as assistants bring up the first piece of work for sale, a purple and orange skyline of some city Jane doesn't even recognize. With it going fast at the high price of a few hundred thousand credits, she wishes she could actually take a drink from her glass, but she has to be on top of her game, in complete control of her faculties.  _Plus, lately I've been having to pee like a fucking racing Varren, so it's best to do this on an empty bladder._

"And remember – _tssht_ \- patrons," reminds a Volus on stage, probably the head of the gallery if the giddy way he can't seem to stand still is any kind of giving. "You are free to take a look at your well won pieces – _tssht_ \- before we begin the gentle wrapping process for transport. They are yours, - _tssht_ \- after all."

"That's what we'll be taking advantage of," Goto explains in a whisper.

Various attendees to this whole, pompous fuck fest laugh those half-assed chuckles she remembers well from various public gatherings where the main point was to, not so obviously, wave around their pricks in attempt to judge and out-boast the person beside you. She fights the urge to groan and fidget in her seat, day dream or fall asleep, anything else besides smile and nod her head in acknowledgment to the small talk occasionally directed towards her direction. _Please get me the hell out of here. At least Garrus doesn't have to sit through this, the lucky bastard._

"Heads up, Captain. My painting is coming up after this one."  _'His painting'? Curiouser and curiouser._

Jane doesn't vocalize her thoughts as she subtly sits higher in her seat at attention as the current piece, a portrait of some Asari broad down in every color of blue under the sun –  _and maybe even some new ones by the look of it –_ is sold off to some wrinkled old man who looks all too proud of himself for the simple task of raising his hand more than the others and having money just falling from his asshole. Never able to understand the point of having so much money to just wave it around at useless shit, she shakes her head away from even trying to comprehend as the stage hands carry out a new piece of work.

True to his words, set within the stand in the center of the stage is what looks like a portrait down in scratchy brush strokes and bright colors of a happy human couple, clad in the typical big white dress and black tuxedo, hand in hand and grinning widely as they run through tall grass from a heavy and darkening sky. She can see how it must be important to at least some, particularly whoever that nameless couple may be, and, though she was never one to put anything put a pencil or bit of charcoal to her hand, something tells her that there is definitely more to this op than McKnight has let on.

She lifts her hand when the auctioneer calls out anyone for the three hundred thousand credit bid, continuing to battle it out with the others as she whispers into her comm. "This better not be coming out of our pockets. This is a hell of a lot of armor and weapon mods going towards a scrap of canvass and paint." Passing the three hundred and twenty-five thousand mark. "Else it'll be really fucking expensive toilet paper."

"Ah, Shep…don't you trust me?"

"I won't believe anything until I see it." Three hundred, thirty thousand. "You owe me an explanation after this, Princess." The bidders beginning to thin, leaving her, a single Asari for her Elcor escort, and the pretentious scrotum sack across the hall.

"Sure. Of course. Just get it." His voice is tense, agitated as he watches from wherever he is hidden in the crowd.

She snorts and stand from her seat, calling above the auctioneer. "Four hundred and fifty thousand credits." Heads turn as the Elcor shakes his head to his spokeswoman, leaving just her and the greasy old man across the wall. She smirks as their eyes lock, promising not to go without a fight.

His milky eyes narrow. "Four, seventy-fi-"

"Five," she interrupts with a lifted brow as she crosses her arms.  _I can go all day, old man._

"I got five hundred credits, can I get five, ten? Five, ten? Going once, going twice… Sold! To the lovely lady in the black, one Vasile original painting!" Claps around the room as heads bob, murmurs of appreciation for what must have been quite the show of the little red headed woman staring down the poor defenseless old man with money burning holes in his lint filled pockets.

"Good show, Shep," the thief says with a hint of amusement. "Pretty sure your show did more distraction than your bidding." She blinks in confusion at that –  _did I fucking pop a boob out or something? –_  and spares a quick glance to make sure that, no, she didn't just reveal her money makers to the whole crowd of aristocrats. Kasumi chuckles as she explains. "When you get all angry and cross your arms in that dress, all the boys practically fell in."

Jane snorts into her glass, ignoring the confused glances towards her direction. Shaking her head in silent 'it's nothing, back to your sipping champagne and usual activities', she politely excuses herself as she stands and makes her way through the seated crowd to  _inspect her newly acquired purchase._

"I assume you've alerted Garrus?" she whispers as soon as she gets to a somewhat private area in the gallery, well away from the entertainment of people throwing their credits at each other. "What's the word on the money transfer? You got a blank chit?"

An invisible hand eases against hers, a thin piece of plastic transferring from one palm into the other's. "This has the exact amount for the piece plus some cushion to dissuade suspicion. Garrus is on his way to the packaging area."

Nodding in understanding, Jane makes her way through the gallery, following the signs posted 'for your convenience', towards the pack of the showroom and behind to the customer packaging area. Beyond the doors is the typical sight of a shipping and receiving room, tall shelves of still boxed and wrapped artwork creating aisles leading towards the back where a large door is slid open to admit movers in and out between their truck and the gallery.

Standing within the various packaged pieces is the man she early believed to be the gallery manager, if not owner, with a datapad in hand, charting off orders and nodding in thought. There doesn't seem to be anyone else back here, pointing to the fact that perhaps those transporting the paintings between the stage and here are the only ones at the time responsible for wrapping and shipping the artwork.

She clears her throat as she approaches, not bothering to walk on her toes to limit the click of her heels, and he turns, first confused, but then smiling wide. "Why, – _tssht_  -hello, ma'am… I hadn't expected anyone so soon – _tssht-_  to look at their pieces." He wheezes a chuckle, obviously trying hard to sell the fact that he really wishes she were back inside spending all her money on his overpriced 'artwork'. "You know, - _tssht-_  it would be easier for you if you wanted to wait until the end of the evening to come examine your purchases. – _tssht-_  That way you can look at all your new pieces together?"

_Yeah, you keep trying to sell me on that and I'll keep ignoring you, so just give me the damn painting._ "Actually, I'd like to see the piece I just spent five hundred thousand credits on," she replies with a mock smile of sincerity as she holds her chit up for his hand to still on its typing at his pad in stunned silence. "Now,"  _that I have your attention, you greedy little toad_  "I'd like to see the Vasile piece I just purchased."

"Right – _tssht-_  away, ma'am. Follow me." Setting his datapad down on one of the unrecognizable boxes of something valuable from the heavy wrapping of plastic cushioning, he waddles closer to the door she just entered in, leading her back to a large end of the storeroom with giant spools of whatever they are using to wrap their items in.

Resting along the wall are the already purchased pieces from today, both the ones she missed as well as was in attendance to watch the auctions for and, right up front, is the one she just spend more than their old apartment's worth one. She moves to step to it when she is stopped with a very audible 'a-hem.'

"I believe – _tssht -_  that my records show that the piece is five hundred thousand – _tssht-_  credits," he informs, if just a bit presumptuously, as he holds out a three fingered hand.

"I believe  _I'll_  be taking that," a low, dual toned voice growls from behind them, the owner most likely having snuck in through the open shipping door. "Turn around slowly, both of you."

If she wasn't in on this whole ploy from the start, she would have never recognized that voice as her husband's, the deep, smooth tone now raspy and hoarse in her ears. She  _would_  have pulled her weapon from her thigh, spun, and not hesitated to put a bullet in whoever was dumb enough to try to hold  _her_  up, of all people, but, instead, when she turns around, she has to fight the impressed shock on her face from showing when she confirms that, yes, that was, in fact, her bondmate holding her and the Volus up for forged credits.

"Please, - _tssht-_  I don't have anything. – _tssht-_  I swear. – _tssht-_  But she does!" She scowls subtly at the man's back, grateful that this wasn't a real mugging involving an innocent this bastard just threw under the buss.  _Fucking coward._

Even under the hood, she sees the tensing of his mandibles at the same thought as he rushes to close the gap, using the butt of his pistol to hit the man over the head. "Shut up," he hisses, glancing around as if afraid of being walked in on despite the fake that both Kasumi and Margo are holding anyone at bay, covering their tracks. "Hand over everything you got. You too, bitch." His weapon points towards her direction, the Volus resolved to just cower with his hands over his aching head.

"Easy," Jane soothes, holding her hands up. "This is all I have," she motions the chit in her hand. "Take it." She moves to toss it as a bang is heard from behind her, Garrus' head and pistol snapping to it as he jerks her to him, wrapping an arm around her to hold her to his chest as a shield.

"What's that?" He growls at the Volus, pointing the gun down to him as Jane 'futilely struggles' in the strong hold taking her hostage. "You have guards or something?!"

"Uh – _tshht-_  oh, yes. – _tssht-_  Lots of guards," the man's head bobs exaggeratedly as he scrambles for a believable threat. "They will be here any moment. – _tssht-_  And they have lots of guns."

Fighting the urge to lay her head in her hands at the idiot not only not able to be convincing to save his life, but also willing to just sacrifice one of his patrons to a thug, Jane risks a quick glance around the floor to make sure they are still in the clear, seeing the slight shimmer of Kasumi as she quietly and quickly begins to remove the painting from the frame, rolling it gently. The bang most likely from her crew as a signal, she 'fights'.

"Look, I'm sure this is isn't how you want to go down," she says as he slowly starts to back towards the exit, holding her as cover as he forces his pistol to waver in nerves as he scans the room. "Just let me go and you can make a break for it."

Damn him for that amused rumble only she can hear and the fact that she can't break face when he jerks his head to the side. "You think I'm stupid?! You're coming with me." His pistol sights the Volus. "Don't try anything or I'll kill her! You hear me?!"

Nodding emphatically, even though they are losing sight of much beyond his form, he assures with a wheezing gasp. "Yes, yes. – _tssht-_  Of course, just – _tssht-_  don't hurt me."

Nearly tripping down the big step down from the warehouse to the alley – the strong arm around her waist keeping her from splaying out on the concrete – they rush into the shadows, down the alley and rounding the corner into another. It's only when they are quickly opening a small sky-cab's doors and crashing into the back seats that they let go of themselves, chuckling as she swats playfully at him. "Did you  _really_  just call me 'bitch'?" she asks with a smirk and raised brow.

He flicks his good mandible as he pushes the hood off his face, their automated car lifting off to meet up with the others at their rendezvous he had predetermined before moving in. "Had to sell it, didn't I?" She snorts and relaxes against him, half in his lap due to how cramped this skycar model is, but he doesn't seem to mind as he purrs with a caress of his hand over her bare shoulder, down to her hand. "I'm happy you didn't shoot me, if I'm being honest."

She chuckles and tilts her head for him when he licks her pulse. "Saw me tense, did you?" He nods with a rumble as his free hand slides from its place on her waist downward before sliding forward, using that slit in her skirt. She gasps when he palms her groin, heated hand against heated core.

"Fuck… Knight?" she calls over her comm, trying to ignore the way his two fingers are sliding along her outer lips and teasing through her panties.  _Dammit, you have grown bold, Garrus… and I fucking love it._  "Status?"

"We are getting out of the gallery with the painting, now. We should be at the rendezvous in about forty minutes if traffic is kind." The anxiety in his voice building all day seems to be completely gone, he back to his normal self in those few seconds between not having this painting and now holding it in his hands.

"Enough time," Garrus chimes in with a heavy, deep whisper in her ear as he reaches to shut off her comm. His hand doesn't stay away long before he shifts her forward on his lap just enough to reach between them, returning her a moment later.

Without needing to be told, she lifts enough for him to ease her dress up forcefully around her waist and over his leg, taking hold of her bare leg as he grinds up against her with a low growling rumble. She moans at the wet slide of his length against her already uncomfortable panties, a hand reaching down to hold him closer, feeling him thrust against her clothed center. Swatting her hand away, he retakes the lead with a nip and lick at her jaw, curling around her ear before taking the lobe between his mouth plates and tugging, eliciting a gasp.

"You going to stop teasing me, or will we be giving the crew a show?" she asks with a flushed smirk, her breath already beginning to pant in time with the thrumming against her back.

Instead of verbally answering, he merely smirks that one-mandibled smirk as a finger pulls aside the thin fabric barrier as his grip on her thigh shifts closer to her center to lift and drop her, seating her immediately over and around him. She moans loud and shamelessly, hands clenching tightly to the edges of the seat cushions under them, as he spears her, heated, slick cock spreading her walls as gravity brings her down over him completely.

That deep, growling moan she loves so much echoes her pleasure as his hands wrap around her thighs, holding her still a moment as they enjoy that one sensation unlike any other of that first moment of joining together. As the moment passes, his breath lifts to the back of her neck as his rough tongue follows, running along her pulse and nipping with the barest hint of teeth.

Once prepared, his hold on her thighs tightens as he lifts her, holding her suspended as he starts a fast pace of bucking into her, fucking up into her. Their voices combine in pants and gasps, moans and growls, and she looks over her shoulder, into his dark eyes, as he leans forward to shove his mouth to hers, tongue forcing its way past her lips to wrap and tangle with her own.

Steady and held in his hands, she drops a hand to their joining, immediately finding her clit and circling, drawing a gasped moan as her walls quiver in anticipation. That drags out a snarl and his thumb slides up, shoving her inadequate fingers aside as he roughly flicks and swirls the sensitive nub, growling at each unconscious jerk and clench in response.

Back bowing, body growing taut with each slide of his thumb and hard buck of his hips, Jane cries out as everything crashes down, her walls spasming out of her control as she climaxes. He growls and releases her, her hips coming down hard to his, as an arm wraps around her torso to hold her tightly as his body curls around her, head buried in her neck. His own orgasm is a mere twitch of his hips followed by the unmistakable rush of the hot slickness she's come to crave from their every encounter, always having been a quiet lover aside from his out-of-control vocals in her ear.

"You know, it's a good thing we aren't trying to keep this a secret, anymore." He snorts at that, making her chuckle breathlessly as she lifts a hand to cup the back of his head lovingly. "Don't let me be an idiot like that again."

"I'll try to remember you giving me that permission."

Playfully patting the back of his fringe in mock reprimand, she smiles and turns to give his cheek plate a kiss. "You're such an asshole."

"Maybe, but I'm  _yours_ ," he adds with a flick of his good mandible and purr before nudging his forehead to hers. "You should probably see what more McKnight needs from you. I'm not done with you, yet."

Jane hums with a smirk as he gently helps her dislodge from him, using a scrap of his shitty 'armor' to catch any mess before she readjusts her clothes and waits for him to make himself decent before opening the cab doors. Waiting by their own transport, Margo smiles and waves her to come over.

"Let me say this before anything else, thank you, Shepard." He acts like he wants to hug her, but either thinks better of it or simply chooses not to. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"You're right, I don't. I also remember me demanding an explanation after I got that thing for you," she goes to the car to lean against it. "So talk."

"Uh… well, where to start?" He sits on the seat of the open skycar, tapping his fingers to his chin in thought. "I guess I can start by saying that the people who were looking to hire someone to get that painting aren't just people I know, they're my family. My parents." Jane lifts a brows, but motions a hand to continue. "And it's not just any painting, but  _mine_. I painted it when I was, hell, I was fifteen. It was supposed to be a gift, but my family, being more about colony politics and lobbying, didn't really see a whole lot of importance on 'art'." He shrugs. "It was one of my first, a painting of a photo in own den of their wedding day."

"How did it end up here? And not with them?"

"Yeah… that's where everything kinda went bottom up for me," he huffs with a quirk to his lips, eyes distance in memory. "Even if they didn't necessarily share my views on what I wanted to do with my future, my parents still encouraged me to get into a good school, get a proper education. Unfortunately, we didn't really have an Art Institute where I lived and they didn't just have the money to both cover my transport  _and_ tuition, so I had to think up something on my own." Looking to her, he smiles. "I sold my artwork to one of the recruiters for studying abroad, and he paid pretty good too."

He pauses with a frown, looking at his scuffed shoes. "Something happened on the day I was supposed to leave, though. It was my first time ever traveling alone, with no family to look out for my arrival on the other side, and even though I wasn't necessarily scared or anything, I managed to get lost on the docks." Shaking his head, as if the huff of a laugh is at his own stupidity, he continues. "I guess my obliviousness actually saved me because the transport I was  _supposed_ to be on had a core meltdown mid FTL jump," he frowns, "nobody had made it, hate to say."

"Including you," Jane supplies, starting to see how this connects with his early stories of how he got into his line of work on complete accident, even if he never actually said what that was. He nods and looks to her, a sad expression of acceptance in his eyes. "So you're trying to give this to them after everything."

"It's the least I could do considering it  _was_  supposed to be a gift to them from the very beginning. I admit, not my best thought to sell it in the first place, but I'd like to correct it, at least know they'll be okay. No matter what happens during this mission with you."

Understanding his stance, even if he doesn't want to actually let them know he truly is alive and well, she nods and pats his shoulder as she straightens up. "I take it you are going to mail it to them? Or do they live here on Illium?"

"No," he answers with a shake of his head. "In fact, I don't know where they are precisely because we always lived between Earth, the Citadel, and whatever colony dad was currently representing at the time. I think I'll send it to our home on Earth, I know they wouldn't have gotten rid of it." He smiles and pats the secure tube holding his work. "And thanks again, Shepard. From now on, I'm all yours, head in the game."


	44. Chapter 44

-Garrus-

Garrus comes awake in the middle of the morning hours, head pounding and heart racing just behind that irritating itch beneath his plates. Gasping for a breath, his wide eyes scan his surroundings, slowly coming to the comforting realization that he's here, within the chilled cabin he shares with his mate.

Despite the overly abundant reminders that this is the last place he should feel completely at ease – from the stark white, black, and orange of human supremists' organization and ever-present and watching AI, to the inevitable one-way trip that lingers just on the horizon – it's the person deeply asleep, her head in the pillows and hair mussed into all different directions, that makes him feel at peace, at home.  _If not for this damn stim withdrawal, I just might be able to enjoy it_.

Using a shaking hand to grab his visor from the bedside table, he slowly stands and makes his way to his armor. He takes the chest piece to the couch to search through its compartments, looking for the sweet sting of a vial that will help to chase away the body-wide ache. Even with part of him demanding to stay quiet and not wake his sleeping wife, he can't help the panicked trill of his vocals with all his secret holds for the drugs he's seeking turn up empty, nothing there to help feed the hollow need in his veins.

"Dammit," he growls as he roughly shoves aside the useless scrap of armor, freezing when he hears a slight stir from the bed. Pausing to listen, to force his body to calm just long enough to check, he releases a sigh of relief when he doesn't hear any more from her, not another shuffle or murmur.

Knowing he can't stay here with his condition –  _I need to find something… I can't fight like this… I can't even_ _ **think**_ _like this_ – he searches for his undersuit and quickly takes it to dress in the small entryway of the deck. This is one of the first nights Jane has slept for an extended period of time and he'll be damned if he's the reason she misses out on one of the few nights she isn't kept awake by nightmares filled with fog and monsters she can't put a name or description to.

True, most of her relaxation might have come from their night spent playing around with the concept of him as some lowlife street thug who had just taken hostage and abducted some socialite aristocrat, but it worked. If all it took to help her sleep was a tiring mission letting their crazy biotic time bomb blow an old Cerberus facility into nothing but ashes and charred vegetation followed by vigorous  _testing_ of both his makeshift street armor and her newly acquired dress, then he'd be all for it. Only problem was the obvious lapse in his judgment in thinking that the stims from the mission could carry him through their night together and into the next day.

 _Stupid, and definitely something I'm paying for now_ , he scolds as he uses his whole palm to hit the command for the Crew Deck, knowing that, even if Doctor Chakwas isn't in her med lab, he knows where her doses of stimulants are and  _she_ knows of his current situation. He can always let her know during shift hours of his dilemma, of which he's sure she'll see his side. After all, if there's one thing everyone on the ship can agree on, it's best to let Jane get however much rest she can.

Stepping from the lift and onto the third level, Garrus tries to maintain his pace so as not to let himself burst into a frantic sprint. His pace looks more obvious of his intentions than he'd like, but he doesn't really have much thought to care as all that he feels in the needy pulsing in his veins and temples, the high whine in his ears, and torturous  _itch_  under his hide and plates, like millions of bugs burrowed in and writhing relentlessly.

"Hey, Garrus," a soft voice stops him in his tracks, an unspoken curse flicking his good mandible at the small figure seated at the Mess table. "You're up early…  _and_ not with Shepard." He can just imagine the Quarian smirking knowingly behind her mask at his and his mate's habits. "That's  _unusual_."

"And you are without Ilden…" That quiets her as her eyes narrow slightly behind her mask before she huffs what is most likely a whispered 'bosh'tet'. "Why are you up? The engines not loud enough?" he asks, shooting a glance to the MedBay before turning from his course, not wanting the young girl to know of his weakness.  _No one but Jane and the Doctor should know I have to fight to keep a clear head without the aid of Chakwas' fancy, medical grade Rebound._

"Not really, I'm used to it after the first Normandy. I was just reading a report from the Flotilla." She holds up a datapad in offering, but he shakes his head, not wanting to give away his state but attempting and failing at trying to take and read something.

"Give me the summary, too early to get into technical terms with what's most likely a Quarian ship schematic," he jokes weakly, talons digging into his arms when he crosses them to keep them from reaching up to scratch at any plate they can reach.

" _Actually_ ," she gives him a look through the glass of her helmet of disproval, "it's a debriefing and collaboration of all the information of what we found on Haestrom that I've been rereading over again. Remember how the sun was dying at an unnaturally accelerated rate?"

"I did. Did your team manage to get anything useful from the databanks, or was it all in vain?" He feels for that, knowing that so many had given their lives only for it to equate to nothing in the end. His life growing up in the Hierarchy prepared him for that, let him be numb to the loss, but he knows Tali isn't one to turn a blind eye to any of that, considering even a minor injury to be something that could have been avoidable.

Shrugging, she lets out an audible sigh as she drops her head, giving Garrus the opportunity to shift ever so subtly in agitation, eyes glancing back at the MedBay and hoping this won't last long enough to cut into the morning shift, when more people will begin to move over the deck. "It's the weirdest thing, Garrus. The sun, Dholen? It's dying… and the only thing we could think to explain that is the high readings of dark energy throughout that system. Even though the old data didn't have the extensive equipment to read it as we do now, we'd have to be in denial to doubt it's what they were seeing too."

"And the Geth?" He lifts a brow plate when she looks up to him. "Odds are they were there for a reason and I doubt it was because they were responsible."

"No, you're right," she agrees with a shake of her head. "The Quarians who once called Haestrom their home were studying long before the Morning War. And they wouldn't have the technology to do that." Pausing, she taps her fingers on the table in thought. "I think… I think they may have been there for the same reason as us. To study the dark energy's effects on the sun and system."

"Right, well, let me know what happens with your study on it," he concludes, the little voice in his head calling towards the Bay, towards salvation. He nods in good-bye before turning to the sweet relief when he's interrupted by the young girl completely oblivious to his pain.

"It's just that, this is serious business, Garrus. I mean, if this is true…" Shoulders slumping just enough not to be noticeable, he looks back to her in 'question' –  _please, for the love of Spirits I don't even believe in, stop torturing me. I beg you…_

"If it's true, then what?" He supplies, hands tightening and making what must surely be the loudest creaking of tension in his plates he's sure she must have heard, but refuses to acknowledge. "Dark energy is what Element Zero throws out, right? How can it be killing a sun?"

"It's not  _just_ from biotics, it's just something that's constantly within space. What we think is emptiness between stars is filled with it." Her eyes crease in a soft smile as she explains as best she can from what she knows. "Quarians learn a lot about it because, as a constantly moving Flotilla, we must account for the fact that the space between destinations is always expanding. Nothing major, but enough to be weary of… a miniscule amount in the billionths of a meter that could mean reaching a destination safely or running out of fuel before reaching it."

"Tali," he groans, running a hand over his temple, hoping it just looks like he's tired. "It's early in the morning and I didn't really get as much sleep as I'd like. Can you just tell me what this has to do with Haestrom?"  _Never running out of stims again…_

Cut from her explanation, she blinks in confusion. "Oh, right. Well, it's like I told Shepard at Mess earlier," She grabs some containers of condiments and seasonings from the center of the table, placing them all together in a tight group, "where gravity holds everything in the universe together, dark energy is repelling force," her hands start to push the containers away from each other, "pushing and causing the universe's expansion. The more dark energy, the more the distance becomes between systems becomes-"

"- the more difficult travel becomes." He supplies, thinking that's it, but she shakes her head.

"That doesn't account for Dholen's sun. Garrus, what if too much dark energy pulling the systems apart causes them to start to die? Their suns to rapidly age as it did Dholen?" She looks up to him, her hands fidgeting. "We found that Dholen's system was further from our old charts, that it had shifted substantially. What if the sun's death could happen to every other system that is pushed too far from the others?"

Sighing, not wanting to sound callous to what is obviously bothering her –  _why didn't Jane warn me if she talked about this just earlier? Though, I guess it would explain her extranet searching tonight on astronomy before we 'settled down'_ – Garrus shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you, Tali. I'm a soldier, for whatever that's worth, so running through end of the galaxy scenarios isn't something I'm all that skilled with."

Surprisingly, she chuckles weakly. "Yeah, Shepard said something similar. Only with a bit more colorful language."

"I bet she did," he agrees with a rumble. "Look, if it means anything, she actually took into consideration what you said." She perks up in shock at that, her eyes widening behind the opaque glass. "Before bed, she was looking into whatever she could. I can't say as we would be able to understand completely what you're saying, Tali, but she and I are willing to listen." He huffs a sarcastic laugh at his next words. "And I'm sure she's happy to hear an 'end of the universe' theory that doesn't include the Reapers."

"Not even I can top that one," she agrees with a hint of amusement in her voice as he takes his leave, being sure not to look like he's rushing into the MedBay.

Luckily, or unluckily if he wants to look at it that way, Chakwas is actually in the Bay, sorting through what looks like supplies of medigel and bandaging. Hearing the doors slide open, she looks over with raised brows in unspoken question of who'd be in so early which turns into a warm smile as she recognizes her guest. "Why, Garrus, how is your healing coming along?"

She sets aside her datapad and makes her way to him as he shrugs with a trembling rumble of assurance. "Not so good. I ran out of supplies." He holds up his constantly moving hands to illustrate. "I guess I lost count of what I had in my suit."

"Yes, I had thought so," she says softly as she takes his hand, flipping it to check his pulse at his wrist. "You certainly don't do yourself favors, do you?" She smiles sadly before releasing him and heading to the cabinets to retrieve a shot.

Snatching it guilty, he turns his back to her to open his suit enough to jam the needle into the soft hide of his waist. With a hiss from both his throat as well as the pressurized vial, the heated rush of drug flows through his veins, like a blooming fire burning away the merciless itch and calming his nerves. A sigh of relief escapes him, his good mandible falling slack as he thrums happily, liberated from the invisible weight around his neck.

"I really wish you hadn't found yourself in this endless loop." Chakwas shakes her head with a frown as she takes the empty vial, disposing of it in the biological waste before returning to check his pulse again. "It's not good for your health  _or_ healing to be flooding your system with these many stimulants."

"I can't stop them and be ship-bound, not while there are still missions. I have to be in the fight." He pretends to not hear the soft sigh of disappointment. "Besides, you even told me not to quit until  _after_  I was healed and this," he motions his synthetic bandaging meant to breathe with built in slot and grooves to administer medigel directly over the wound without removal, "hasn't even come off yet."

"You certainly aren't doing yourself any favors either way," she adds with a lifted brow as she heads to the cabinet to collect more vials, her only sign that she relents – if only because she can monitor him both through controlling his supply and knowing his own wife is currently acting as a double agent for the Doctor. "Forgetting to keep yourself on the medication is only causing you to go into withdrawal, which raises your blood pressure and can very well incapacitate you when coupled with your injuries, and you taking them is certainly going to make your healing process take longer. I already know you'll scar, but with these, it'll be worse than it could have."

Shrugging as he takes the inconspicuous container of drugs, he says with a slight smirk. "I guess it's a good thing my mate has a thing for the scars, then."

"Not funny, Garrus." Scowling, she crosses her arms over her chest. "I would appreciate it if you at least considered stopping the stimulant use... Unless you really like the look and thought of having to keep that bandage on because your weakened immune system doesn't bond to the cybernetics?"

He cringes at that thought and nods. "I assure you, I don't want to stay them as much as you don't want me to, but I can't leave Jane to go to ground without me."

"Because you refuse to think anyone can do the job as well as you?"

"Because the last time I wasn't there, she died," he growls as he turns to leave.

"Garrus, wait," the older woman calls out with a concerned frown, but he doesn't catch it as the doors slide closed behind his back.

Thankfully, Tali is absorbed in her reading to notice his upset as he passes, nearly bumping into Ilden's shoulder as he exits the lift. The Drell man doesn't question, simply stepping aside to let the aggravated Turian by as he slams a fist into the command to take him to the Loft.

When the doors close, throwing him into the still quiet of nothing but the hum of the ship echoing through the elevator shaft, his anger disintegrates, dropping off like a heavy weight. He knows it has to do with the drugs flooding through his system, dissolving the furious rage that builds in places from the pain and feeling of urgency in his limbs and mind, but it does nothing when in the moment. He just doesn't seem to have the strength to fight the irrational agitation that grips him when he is without the aid of the drugs and he hates it, hates the feeling of helplessness and lack of control.

He only saving grace – as Jane and the other humans say – if that he only has to make it through this mission, get himself and Jane through this assault on the Collectors. Once they succeed in destroying these pawns of the Reapers, which he knows she'll do despite all odds as she always has, he'll gladly let the floodgates open on his addiction, endure through whatever pains his body and mind will throw upon him for denying himself the toxins of the last of Omega's hold upon him.

He will not do it alone, he knows, as he will always have his own pillar of strength in the tiny human with the universe on her shoulders –  _his_ universe on her shoulders. Even if he rejects her, he knows her stubbornness will not let her turn her back and, for that, he will take all her burdens, more so than he happily does now. Not even the Reapers will keep him at his best from forcing the woman who shoulders it all to let him carry her, not matter how much she complains that she's no 'damsel in distress'.

Stepping from the lift, he immediately hears her soft guitar playing and sighs that, apparently, she hadn't been able to sleep much longer after he had left. Doors opening to admit him, he sees her on the bed, playing and singing softly something about needing luck.

Choosing not to interrupt her or question whatever methods she uses to distract her from whatever woke her, he sets his package down on the desk before making his way down the stairs. She nods in acknowledgment without breaking rhythm, even so much as smiling around the words as she motions with her head to join her on the bed.

He chuckles she directs some of the words at him as he takes to sitting behind her, cradling her with his legs while keeping from her moving hands. Wrapping his hands gently around her waist, he nuzzles the back of her head lovingly in a silent apology for not being there when she woke.

"Some kinds voodoo, some kinda luck. Luck. Luck!" she finishes with a flourish of vocals and strings before smiling over her shoulder at him, brow lifted.

"What?"

She snorts. "'What' what? I can't smile at you?" Exaggeratedly, she forces a frown into her features, making him shake his head. "Where'd you go?"

"Had to head down to the MedBay." He doesn't need to say more as she nods. "Saw Tali down in the Mess. Now I know what you were looking into before we went to bed."

"More like what I gave myself a headache from and didn't even learn jack shit," she corrects with a shrug. "I guess it's a good thing my job is to just shoot things until they're dead."

"'Until they're dead'?" He raises a brow plate. "They teach you those specifications in the Alliance? Or is that just your definition of your job description?"

Another shrug before she grins. "I may be downplaying it, but it's pretty much what I do." She clears her throat before attempting a deeper, much more masculine voice. "'Shepard, this is Admiral Hackett. We need you to go here and shoot these people for us because we're… busy. Wait, you negotiated peacefully? I didn't expect that, but good work, I guess.'"

He chuckles with a deep rumbling in his chest before saying, "I doubt he said that."

"I took liberties-"

"Commander Shepard," EDI interrupts, making Jane snort, giving him a look of 'why am I not surprised?'.

"Yes, EDI?" the red head supplies with a mock smile, a high tilt to her voice in teasing they both know the AI doesn't have the capabilities to understand.

Instead of the usual, emotionless response of the ship's Intelligence, the pilot cuts in. "Hey, uh, Shepard? You might want to head down to the Mess. Miranda and Jack seem to be getting into it, fists flying and everything." She sighs and shakes her head as Garrus hums in exasperation at the children they all work with. "Better get down there before they rip a hole in the hull."

Rubbing her temple with a hand as she stands and sets the guitar aside, she groans in frustration. "Alright, alright. I'll go down and playing 'mommy Shepard' to the fighting teenagers."

"Take pictures!"

The comm shuts off before Garrus can remark about how Joker should be paying more attention to piloting the ship than watching the crew or making jokes, so he's left to turn to his wife as she searches for something to wear. "Going down there, I see."

"Well, yeah," she responds, as if that should be obvious as she yanks on some pants before grabbing a shirt to yank on over that weird contraption over her breasts that she continues to wear despite causing her soreness. "I can't say I didn't expect something like it after what went down on Pragia. That was fucked."

Rumbling in agreement, even though he really would have rather they spent the last half hour in peace before having to go down to the crowded Mess to try and make her eat, he follows her to the lift. He watches her try to comb her hair with her fingers into submission as they ride down, seeing her rounded nubs of limbs not doing anything to tame the curls, before he gently pushes her hands away and does it on his own. Taking the tie from her and pulling the somewhat controlled locks back, he finishes just as the doors open to a loud crash of something hitting the back of the elevator shaft's wall.

Bolting from the lift and stomping with a stern scowl, he's left to follow his irritated mate as she yells firmly. "What the  _fuck_  is going on here?!"

They round the corner to the sight of Miranda, lip slightly bloody, glowing bright blue as she holds a heavy chair in mid throw as Jack charges. The charging woman doesn't seem to hear the Commander's demand, the Operative having to ignore to keep her own guard as she lets the chair lose, the angered woman easily deflecting it aside. Moving with speed he knows well, Jane charges on her own, directly into the diminishing gap between two biotic women, and unleashing a powerful, two-direction shockwave.

"Enough!" she orders loud enough to cut through the clamor of her own power crashing through her targets and anything else in its way. The other occupants of the Mess caught in the midst of the breakfast being interrupted by the fight even flinch in their places, hunching to try and avoid Jane's ire. "Explain."

"This bitch won't admit that what Cerberus did to me was fucking wrong!" Jack doesn't charge, but doesn't bother to hide how her body charges up with energy in threat as she eyes Lawson.

Now having the chance to tend to her slight injury, Miranda accepts a cloth from Gardner, who had taken refuge behind his counter against the massive collisions of biotics. "Jack attacked me here in the Mess when I was trying to prepare my morning tea. I was only defending myself." Dark blue eyes turn to Jane. "Besides, as I said  _before_  she so violently attacked me, that facility she was talking about wasn't even Cerberus sanctioned."

"Bull-fucking-shit, it wasn't!"

"Jack, control yourself," The Commander snaps. "You really think that was the best thing to say to her, knowing how she is?"

"Why should I walk on egg shells because of her? I  _am_ the XO around here, after all," she adds with a cross of her arms, making some of the members of the ground crew in attendance snort or roll their eyes dismissively.

Waving them off, not allowing them to worsen the situation, Jane shakes her head at the woman. "Whether or not you are, it was fucking stupid of you to give her a reason. If you remember, it was  _your_  boss who wanted her on this ship and who am I to deny any fucking gun I can find, not matter how unstable they are. In fact, most people are smart enough to know how to get along with her, or avoid her if not. As far as I'm concerned, you deserved that split lip for being a smart ass, but the next time you don't use your head and leave the situation by  _going into your fucking office not two meters away_ , I'll kick your ass back to the Illusive Man, myself."

Not yet done, she turns to the tattooed woman, anger not yet assuaged. "And  _you_ … Don't forget it was you who stayed on this fucking ship once everything was said and done. I'm not saying what happened down there wasn't fucked, but your revenge was supposed to be settled, not brought up to anyone who wears the Cerberus colors. Or did you forget it's those same fucking people flying the damn ship that  _keeps you alive_? You want to fight? Fight me, I'll gladly rip your ass for starting shit on my ship."

Jack snorts derisively and she crosses her arms. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," she corrects, some of the crew who have seen some of the things Jane has done nodding subtly in the quiet. "Consider this a fair warning to both of you. Even if you have to act like it, you two  _will_ get along or you will not make it far enough to bring down my team when we hit the Collectors." A slight smirk, part amused and part vindictive crosses her features. "If I have to, I'll even cuff the two of you together until we drop, making you eat, piss, sleep, and shower together." Two sets of eyes, even if they would deny it later, widen in shock. "Do I make myself clear?"

Lawson bites her tongue as she glances to Jack, neither wanting to break the silence, to show any sign of assenting before the other. Finally, the young tattooed biotic throws her hands from her chest, hands fisted at her side as she shoves through the room. Garrus assumes that's an agreement, one mirrored by a slight nod of understanding from Miranda before she heads to her office.

"Good fucking show, Shepard," a raspy voice shouts after a long, still moment of deafening silence. "Had to give it to the broads, they put on a helluva show." Zaeed approaches with a scowl deeper than normal on his features. "But what I wanna know is when are we heading after Vido. I won't miss my chance to put a bullet in that bloody bastard's head."

"Easy, Massani. We're heading to Zorya as we speak, you just need to hold your damn horses."

"I'll do whatever I damn well please. You don't know what that sodding coward did to fuck me over." Shrugging, Jane lets him pass to grab some of whatever it is that Gardner managed to throw together to eat. "And I actually want that Turian pet on yours on this. Bet he'd know a little something about revenge."

Garrus narrows his eyes with a growl. "I have a name… and it's certainly not  _pet._ "

That only makes the old merc laugh. "Hey, I don't care to know what your Goddamn lovebirds do in private."

" _Any_ way," Jane interrupts as she steps back from the food, a curl of disgust to her lip that she tries to hide. "We'll drop on Zorya in a few hours. Garrus will be our third, even if you didn't want him, and if you need a fourth, let me know."

"Don't want anyone else, just get out of my way when I see that bastard, Vido."


	45. Chapter 45

-Jane _-_

Their mission on Zorya went to hell, up in flames in the most spectacular way.

The statement wasn't even one of Jane's ineloquent way of understating the obvious, either. The factory, quite literally,  _went up in billowing, raging flames_. They barely had a moment to get themselves out before the entire shithole collapsed after diverting flames from the poor, hapless fools who just happened to be working that day. Needless to say, their divided attention caused Vido to get away, of which Zaeed was less than pleased.

That, unfortunately,  _was_  an understatement. So much so, that when the doors to the lift open upon the CIC, Zaeed's irate voice wasn't the only thing that could be felt escaping from the fury in both humans' eyes.

The tension was so thick that Kelly, who managed to be the closest crew member to their arrival, visibly steps away, busying herself with something further down the Deck while biting off her usual greeting. Jacob, stepping from the Armory with a question on his lips stops short as he walks right into the heavy energy, words dying on his lips as one look at the still armor clad mercenary and Commander has him turning tail and returning to his post.

"Goddammit, Shepard," the old merc shouts, some of the Cerberus navigators flinching in their seats. "Are you fucking hearing me?!"

"It'd be pretty damn hard not to, Zaeed," she responds with more control than one would expect, going to her terminal, searching for something. "Or did you suddenly remember that we had a  _fucking refinery exploding around us_?"

"Like I give a damn about-"

She spins on him, scowling as her armored chest plate butts against his in loud clangs of ceramic and metal plating. "You'd better! Not only did you put those workers, but our own asses on the line." Shoving him and hearing his all gravely growl of disapproval at the little woman forcing him to put weight on his possibly broken ankle, she turns back to her terminal. "No wonder you lost your fucking hold on the Blue Suns. That was a dumb move, even with all the shit I've seen."

"Don't you dare try to act like you know a damn thing, woman. Twenty fucking years I've been after Vido and you just let the bastard run. And for what? Some poor sods who you wouldn't give two shits about on any other day." She looks over her shoulder at him, glaring at the truth.  _This isn't about whether or not I'm a Good Samaritan, it's about you defying common fucking sense_. "What's the matter, sniveling broad can't take the truth? Gonna cry to your terminal or face me like a real bloody soldier."

"You know what," she snaps, shutting off once she has what she needs. "I could've offered you Vido, even called in a favor owed to me," she smirks when his scowl lessens a bit in surprised confusion, mixed with a bit of curiosity, "but if you'd rather see whose dick is bigger, I can call Garrus up here. He was more than happy to try to put a bullet in your head down there, my approval or not. I'd do it myself," she shrugs, "but he called dibs and I'm not a woman to go back on my word."

"What the bloody hell you talking about?" Obviously not used to being out of control or thrown for such an unexpected loop, the grizzled man crosses his arms, creating a wall between him and the redhead. "No way in hell you know where Vido is."

"No, but I know someone who does." Her eyes spark with power of knowing more than the man who, down on Zorya, acted like he ran the show, ultimately putting her team in dire peril in a collapsing, fiery deathtrap. Stepping from her terminal, she motions with her head for him to follow as she heads to the Conference room. Passing through the Armory and into the short hall that forms the cross-section of the floor, she stops.

"Oh, and another thing" she spins and grabs the front of his armor, using his bad foot to push his back against the wall as her voice takes a teasing, methodic tone at odds with her words, "the next time you decide to do something stupid like, oh, blowing up a facility with us still in it, I'm leaving your ass to burn… and I'll even warm my little, freezing hands on the flames coming off your corpse." She releases his armor, letting her hand smooth over the metal, brushing off 'dirt'. "Understood?"

She only gets a scoff as answer, but her point is made as she steps into the Conference room, addressing the ship-wide AI. "EDI, I gave access to a communications channel from my private terminal. Call it up."

"Just what the hell you after, Shepard?" Massani crosses his arms out of the view of the comm screen as EDI does as told, calling up the last person Jane ever thought she'd actually be calling on, let alone actually taking up on their offer. "Who in the bloody hell you calling?"

"Ah ah," she promises with a smirk as the image starts to flicker as her intended recipient connects from their end. "'The adventure's first, explanations take such a dreadful time'."

Her words receive a curious, yet subtle, lift of chin from the man on the opposite end of her call, an older Turian male, clad in long, elegant robes and seated with his hands clasped professionally atop a desk in what must be a private office.  _Fancy…show off. Why can't I get something not made of reinforced metal to sit at?_

His voice is calm, almost emotionless despite the fact that she's gotten more used to subvocal cues over the years with her husband, especially when most Turians doubt humans can even pick up on them. "Commander Vakarian, I am presume?"

' _Vakarian?'_  she internally questions, not expecting that until she realizes that this man must have looked her up.  _Not that it's that hard to find my marriage certificate and legal name change for anyone who bothers to look. Note to self, this guy obviously takes it upon himself to know more than what's said, apparently._

"Uh, actually, it's Commander Shepard," she corrects. "Easier to work on a ship when there's only one Vakarian and one Shepard." He doesn't respond but to simply watch her with those beady, hawk's eyes that match the rings on his mandibles chiming each time he speaks. "I assume you are Arcanus Reguix? The – I don't know – Leader of the Citadel Blue Suns or something?"

"You are correct, I hold control over the Citadel faction of the Blue Suns. If this call is, in fact, what I believe it to be and not merely a social call to test my patience, then I must be the first to admit I had not expected you to take my offer as sincere. It seems that you are, truly, not as first impressions would have you."

Jane quirks a slight brow at the tone of his voice. While not completely off to one direction, but a mix of humor and slight condescension, it sounds almost like that of many others from the higher tiers of the Citadel's population, the politicians and aristocratic populace she'd never even  _try_ to fit into. She wonders if it's just a side effect of living on the station for so long or if life as the mercenary leader in such a place so far removed from the likes of the obvious corruption of Omega really does require one to wear that mask of faked expression and exaggerated self-importance.

"That's me," she boasts with a twitch of her lips, catching Zaeed's attention perking at the voice of her conversing partner. "I'm always full of surprises and impossibilities."

"So it seems," he agrees with a subtle, but relaxed, flick of his mandibles, a good sign that he hasn't yet thought about denying her request before at least hearing it.  _Or, at least, I hope my Turian reading is good enough to see that_. "Well, Commander, fair being fair, how can I help you?"

"Now you're talking," Jane smirks as she speaks, leaning back with a cross of her arms. She motions Zaeed over to her left, not knowing if the man on the line can see through the light years of space. "I have a friend who has a twenty-year long feud and an unfortunate bad temper. I'm looking for the one who got away."

"Dammit, woman, quit jerking everyone around and bloody spit it out." The robed Turian's golden eyes flick to the mercenary at her back, mandibles making the slightest flicker of movement. A moment of silence passed before the man speaks.

"Mr. Massani," he greets with little added inflection from what he's already graced them with as he returns his sights to Jane. "Am I to assume the two of you are the reason for Mr. Santiago's rather abrupt exodus into seclusion?"

Chuckling, she can't help the guilty grin on her lips at the memory of Vido quite literally running away like the coward he was.  _Only thing missing was a tail to tuck between his legs as he went_. Not to mention that, even if Zaeed doesn't recognize this man –  _probably too small time for the old man to get his head from his ass and pay attention to if he didn't even see a mutiny until too late. He's really got to work on those blinders of his_ – the Turian certainly recognizes, and remembers, the former Blue Suns' leader. "Funny you mention him. What do you say I cash in that favor and you tell us where the little prick's hiding?"

"You clearly do not understand the gravity of such a statement." Clearly ignoring any attempt to correct her language when compared to his much more eloquent figures of speech, Arcanus instead narrows his eyes just slightly in annoyance. "While I may, in fact, owe you for your unintentional work within my own organization, what you are proposing is treason."

In a rage at the dismissal, Zaeed storms the comm, practically foaming at the mouth. "Now listen hear you bare-faced sunova-"

Swatting the man's pointed finger away from her peripheral, she sends a glare his way in 'shut the hell up, you idiot' before turning back to the topic in peril. She's surprised to see that, despite the clear and unfinished insult, the older Turian hasn't just outright terminated the call.

"Listen here, Reguix," she starts as she crosses her arms. "I know that 'treason' don't mean shit to mercs when the payout is good enough and you can't bet your flat, plated ass that it is. The one thing I know a merc wants more than money is power. Even more? Easy power. With all front runners dead, just where would that put you?" She raises a brow, knowing the man is definitely smart enough to follow her obvious line of succession. "And…the way I see it?" she adds with a smirk. "It's only treason if you get caught pissing on the boss' boots with your pants down."

Despite being quite new to Jane and her usual tendency to throw around vulgarities and make up random metaphors, the Turian doesn't show any signs of confusion –or even that he's paying attention to the nuances of her speech surrounding the point she's trying to get across. "An interesting equally compelling argument, Commander." He leans forward, as if intrigued. "I am curious as to what gives you the impression that I am as you describe."

She snorts, thinking,  _When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When talking to mercs, do as the mercs do and give the man what he likes to hear_.

That in mind, she smirks and matches his lean, placing her hands on the edge of the table to support her weight, and says, "You're a smart man, Arcanus. You wouldn't be the leader of that Citadel faction if not. With Tarak nothing but a steaming pile of, mostly likely, Vorcha shit out on Omega and Vido toeing the line, the list of candidates to take the throne is pretty damn sparse. And, honestly, it's not like I'll tell our little secret. Will you, Zaeed?"

"Not a damn chance."

"See? He won't tell." She grins wickedly as the man sits back in his chair, golden eyes piercing through the channel as he studies her. "Way I see it, it's a win-win for both of our parties."

Golden rings are still for a long, agonizing moment before the man speaks, his voice stern and as serious as cold, unrelenting stone. "You understand this information comes at a high price."

"Doesn't it always? And, no, Archangel's off limits," she adds with a warning glare.

"Commander Shepard, as I said on my previous correspondence, I hold no ill will against the vigilante Archangel. Tarak was foolish for his endeavors to gain the notice of such an individual and, barring that, his fall in combat is not of my concern," he practically snaps out, his movements taking that quick flicks of mandibles Jane has come to believe signal when a Turian is deadly serious with their intentions – or she hopes so if her years with Garrus has taught her the subtleties of Turian speech, otherwise she's just talking out her ass.

"The cost of this information is the demand that you not fail. Saving you the intricacies of the exacts of my situation and influences upon the inner workings of the Blue Suns, it is not difficult to deduce that any failing on your part will, without a doubt, return to me. I do not take such risk likely."  _Dammit,_ she huffs a heavy breath through her lips, feeling like the rejection is just over the horizon, padded as his words are.

"However," he continues, catching her attention, green eyes widening in hope. "I would like to believe that the very woman capable of spearheading the defensive attack against a Reaper can handle a single man taking shelter within an isolated base with his armed entourage."

"Wait a damn minute," she blinks in surprise, "you know about the Reapers?"

"For another time, Commander. Preferably over a glass of  _Secundus-_ "

"Whatever the hell that is." Spoken under her breath while trying not to openly interrupt the man, damn her knack for speaking her thoughts.

"- I am sending the coordinates for Mr. Santiago's said base of current operations. He has a private home located within and on the upper levels of a recently repurposed YMIR Mech manufacturing and distributing facility. While not large nor in much need of heavy defenses when given under normal circumstances, it would be imperative to suspect that you are not faces such circumstances. Mr. Massani can most likely attest to Vido Santiago's paranoid tendencies." The mercenary grunts at her back, either in agreement or something else, she won't even begin to try to guess. "If I may suggest, it can be beneficial to wait at least a solar day or so for him to settle into his position, and for his men to become complacent."

"Already been waiting twenty-damn-years and you expect me to wait more?" Zaeed barks an unamused laugh, crossing his arms. "Not a bloody fucking chance in hell."

Shaking her head, eyes closed in exasperation, Jane motions with a hand to 'keep going', knowing that there's something about the man and the way he speaks that tends to lead to more information that he lets on. Almost as if he wants to offer information while being able to maintain the capability of denying all involvement – or at least most- if it should ever come back to him.

"If you must needs have something to do while you wait, and if you prefer the more subtle technique of sneaking past the defenses," he pauses with a pointed look to her, making her wonder if he knows more about her battlefield tactics because he's been keeping some sort of tab on her, "then I am certainly you can find yourself in possession of information on the location of an available Blue Suns shuttle for your convenience."

"Not very good at keeping your nose out of it, are you?" She smirks. "And you seem to know an awful lot about the situation, as if you were maybe expecting the call."

"A man looking to succeed does not reveal all that he knows or has obtained unless it further benefits him," he responds cryptically, wiping the smirk off her face to be replaced by a confused furrow of brow. "I admit that your actions two years before have attracted my attention on the sheer purpose that such a threat as the one you were facing is a matter for all to consider. Added to that the current actions of the combined forces of those under your command now, and it would be foolish of me not to pay attention." He pauses to steeple his fingers under his chin. "You also do not hide your activities very well if that was your intentions."

That actually makes her snort and chuckle. "Understood, Reguix. Practice my subtly, got it." She looks up into the screen with a firm nod. "Appreciate the info and heads up."

"Commander," his mandibles flick out in a smile that doesn't quite reach to those intense golden orbs as he sits back in his chair as he once when they first contacted him. "There is no obligation to thank me for this. In fact, if you accomplish this task as effortlessly as one may hope, I may find myself yet again in the position of owing you yet another favor by the end of all of this."

Any response from her is denied as the call shuts off, leaving only the two armor-clad humans in the large room. Smirking, she looks to Zaeed, first with a look over her shoulder before her entire attention, and body, turns to him. "I  _do_  believe there is a 'told you so', followed by a rubbing your face in it, in order."

Mismatched eyes narrow in a scowl, but any words seem sapped from the man at the moment. Instead, he simply glares at her before exhaling a heavy, raspy breath.

"Bloody hell, woman. Where do you meet these Goddamn people?"

Shrugging around her soft chuckle, she crosses her arms and leans a hip on the table. "Actually, my husband is responsible for this one. I take no responsibility, so if you want to kiss anyone's ass for it, this one," she turns a bit and pats her own armored rear twice before rubbing it in a mock soothe, "is the wrong one."

"I ain't kissing anyone's arse… let alone that boney basterd's hind end."

* * *

 

Thinking back to the previous conversation she had with the mercenary leader, she's sure  _this_  wasn't what the man had in mind when he hinted at going in under the guise of secrecy. Though, to be honest, she's not quite sure  _she_ would have assumed they'd have need to just crash said shuttle disguise nose first into a heavy mech in order to 'fire off the first shot', so to speak.

Now, here they were, taking cover behind their blazing wreckage of a vehicle as a plethora of LOKI's come funneling out of the open shipping and packaging bay doors. Reguix was somewhat right on their not being heavy defenses – there were only a number bordering on the dozens of armed men – but what Vido lacked in manpower thanks to their recent assault back in the refinery, he made up with the insufferable mechanized guard.

A loud crack, like thunder after the brightest bolt of lightning has split the sky, echoes through the tall ceilinged assembly hold, cuts through the virtual voices of mechs and shouts of those remaining flesh and blood mercenaries. Peeking out at the assured 'Scratch one!', Jane sees a LOKI crumble and explode, blowing off the legs of the two beside it.

"Garrus, focus on those damn mercs and stop showing off." Rounding the corner of the wreckage they are using as cover, she throws a pull at one of the heavy guard, yanking their missile launcher right from their startled hands. They don't have a moment to collect themselves before those same confused and surprised features disintegrate into a blossom of bright read all over the crate at their back. "Dammit, stop stealing my kills!"

Head still in the game despite their back and forth, she moves to the next target, using the newest skill she's learned from Samara and leeching an incoming Ceturion's shields. Leaving the distant target for one of the others with their longer ranged weapons, she kicks a FENRIS mech as it rounds the corner before throwing it with a shockwave towards a group of mechs to explode at their feet.

"Zaeed. Grenade on my ten," is all the warning she gives as she ducks and runs, sliding into cover against a crate as her helmet's visor tint lightens to adjust to the dark of the facility in contrast to the bright sun. Just as her back hits the hard metal, a blast of heated air rushed over her ducked head, the mechanical whirs of now destroyed LOKIs and a handful of pained shouts like music to her ears. "Move up when I lean out of cover."

Spinning out, she fires her shotgun at one of the mercs still barely standing, not giving the man a chance to use the gun still in his hand. He falls with a shout of agony, skin revealed from his tattered undersuit in places raw and bloody from the explosion just before she fills him with a scattered shot. Heavy footfalls, followed by the grunted pants at her side, signal the arrival of the old merc in stained yellow armor and she gives him a quick glance and nod towards his next cover before returning to the fight.

Following a register of the heavy rifle her mate so loves, she rolls out and towards the charred remains of a YMIR for cover as she throws a shockwave at an incoming wave of LOKIs, toppling them into a confused and stuttering mess. She hears over the comm the confirmation of Zaeed hitting his cover right before he begins to return fire.

"Spirits damn it! How hard is it to kill a single team of intruders?!" Booms the loud voice of a Turian in heavy armor as he enters onto the catwalk of the manufacturing floor, the only entrance and, thus, the only possibility of Vido's location.  _At least we came in through the means of escape, this time._  Before Garrus can take a shot, she knows, the man hops the railing and falls, built in propulsion within his armor cushioning the fall as he lands and immediately ducks behind a crate.

She hears her mate curse under his breath as he instead fires at an unlucky guard within the aisles between the crates, removing his helmet with head still inside with a shot to the unexposed neck. "Garrus, move to higher ground. Take no risks." His affirmative is drowned out as the cranes and machinery around and above them comes to life, building and moving inactive mechs.  _Just fan-fucking-tastic._

"Time I take care of this myself," barks that same Turian as a loud shot rings out, different in tone from her husband's, and the whole side of the crate to her right caves in on itself from a powerful rifle shot – akin to Garrus' own modified Widow if not for the fact that this one obviously needs a cool down period before the second shot. "Come out, human!"

Knowing from the accuracy of that shot not to fall for the ruse, she sticks to her location and risks a glance over the field to gauge the situation. Most mechs have been downed and, thanks to the tight and mostly cramped packaging and building floor, there is little maneuverability room between the shipping crates should they drop another YMIR to flush them out. Zaeed has found a good spot with open sights to both herself and at least eighty percent of his visible surroundings. Garrus, though she can't see him, she knows has found a perch from the low, humming thrum in the comm of his intense concentration as he lines up shots.

As if knowing her thoughts, he speaks. "Target is on the move. Don't have a good shot. He's hunting down your positions." A shot rings out. "One more of his reinforcements taken care of."

"Shit," she curses under her breath, Zaeed's callout of another injured hostile going unnoticed as she searches for another cover to take. Seeing one further down the floor, but dangerously positioned further from her team than she'd like and with open flanks, she tightens her fists in anger at her fucked up luck. "Status," she demands, gauging options as her blood pulses in anticipation, that rush of adrenaline only felt here, in the moments between safety and rushing through the hail of gunfire.

"Need to move, Jane. He knows where you are. Where I am."

 _Fuck it, now or never._  Spinning from her cover, she ducks and goes for a full-on sprint, legs thumping against the heavy concrete floor. The obvious Turian commander is nowhere in her line of sight and she's nearly halfway across the floor when an engineer rounds the corner, eyes behind their face plate widening as they lift their weapon, as if in slow motion.

Easier to keep going than stop or change course, Jane hopes to use the element of her motion and surprise to her advantage, flaring a deep violet as her body shoots through the expanse. Slamming with a force and at the speed to shatter unarmored bones, she sends the armored man flying and skidding across the floor. His flailing state doesn't last long as she wastes no time, time that could be the determining factor of life and death in these situations, to aim and pull the trigger of her shotgun, cutting through shields easily at this range.

Like an unvoiced 'there you are, found you!', the corner of the crate – where her head had just been a split second before – shatters into splinters of carbon fiber and metal shrapnel. Immediately, she ducks and slides around the corner, putting the heavy material between her and where she thinks the gun fire is coming from. Too late she's cursing the bad idea it was to seek shelter behind such a pathetic piece of garbage.

Peeking out to try and catch sight, once again, of the man hunting her down through the warehouse, she sees nothing but the already fallen. "Fuck," she spits quietly as she bumps her back against the crate, looking around on her sides, even above at the assembly tracks where heavy mechs glide through the air. Nothing provides any sort of cover or means of getting out from this precarious predicament. "Garrus, talk to me, baby." She doesn't bother to hide the anxious anticipation laced in her teasing mockery as she sees Zaeed moving through his own cover in her peripheral.

Her husband's only answer is a slight growl before the loud, echoing shot from his weapon. "Damn it. Heavy weapon down. Hostile still active." His angered frustration is evident in his voice, but she doesn't blame him for missing a shot – or taking a winging shot instead of killing one – given the circumstances of their environment working to their opponent's home field advantage.  _Also doesn't help that the bastard can control the fucking assembly line._

Really needing to stop jinx herself, a loud screeching – like metal scraping loudly against metal – echoes overhead, snapping her attention upward. Eyes wide and jaw dropping, she barely has enough time to scream internally - _fucking mechs!-_ before jumping, and crashing, in attempt to avoid the giant YMIR as it comes hurtling down on her position, shaking the very floor as it demolishes her cover as if made of twigs, straw, and well wishes.

"Jane!" Her mate barks over the comm – and the ringing in her ears – and she can sense him questioning if he should leave his own cover, debating the possible risk.

Before that split moment can pass and he put himself in danger, she coughs and snaps a hand to her comm, hoping it works even though her ears can't seem to stop ringing from throwing herself face – helmet- first into the ground in a very ungraceful dive. "Stand ground. Hold position." She coughs and shoves a heavy hulk of mech of her arm. "Who drops a fucking mech on someone?!"

Angered by the sheer  _audacity_  of the asshole, she stands on shaking legs, scanning the area while slowly backing towards a more stable cover  _away and out_  from under the moving conveyer struts in the ceiling. There is no sign of the man - his men petered out to a bare few either too scared or finally smart enough not to leave their cover- until she sees a flicker of armor not on the ground, but upon the first level of stacked crates, very near to her position.

"Garrus," she whispers, hoping she can get this right with her horrible math skills and damaged HUD that usually helps her. "Between our positions, there's a crate positioned on a scrapped Hahne-Kedar. Your left corner, take the shot through the metal. Aim for your half after eleven."

If he were anyone else – anyone  _sane_  – he'd have questioned her, thought that blow to the head from the floor followed by intense cuddle with a heavy mech hand knocked a few screws loose, but this is Garrus, her mate, a man who may very well be considered a facilitator to that insanity. Without pause, she knows he does as she says when she hears a soft rumble in understanding just before the loud, solitary crack of his rifle, cutting through the thin metal of the crate siding and hitting home.

With a pained growl, the armored figure stumbles a bit from his position and it's all she needs, all the cue she desires, before she steps from her own cover and starts for a spurt, body glowing as energy flows down her spine and out. Propelling herself forward with the force of her destructive biotics, she charges into her target, slamming into him and sending them both sprawling and crashing to the ground from his perch.

They land with a loud grunt, air rushing from their lungs. A hand snaps up and wraps around her throat, but the injury from the sniper rifle through the lower side of his chest, right between his chest plate and waist guard –  _perfect shot_ ,  _Garrus_  – makes his grip weak and she easily brings the butt of her weapon against his helmeted skull. Even with the protective headgear, it's sure to hurt as he grunts and his hold falters enough that she shrugs it off and flips the weapon, aiming between his veiled eyes.

"A  _mech_?! You cock sucking little," she pulls the trigger, hearing the weapon make a pained squeal as it makes a sickly churning sound, obviously damaged from said mech. "Mother-"

A hand swats away the shotgun as the other fires out, punching, but missing, a strike for her throat. Instead, his shaky jab hits the jut of her collar guard and she grunts, returning a punch of her own into his more exposed neck, sending him gagging and choking.

Shotgun returning back to its 'blunt weapon' state, she rams the butt of it down hard against his face plate, finally shattering the visor. "Why. Won't. You. Die?!" Each word punctuated by another slam of her fancy new club against his helmet.

Sure, she could go for another weapon, but with all the shit this man has already given her – still fighting to the end – she can't risk the split second of pause to withdraw and ready a new weapon. Plus, she figures, he  _did_ try to drop a mech on her like she was just some kind of bug.

Somehow gaining a new wind – perhaps from the sounds of gunfire at her back snapping him into reality that there is still a fight going on – the man growls and bolts up, shoving her off his torso as he palms the injury there, hand reaching for one of his own reserves. His second chance is gone and fleeting even before it began as she pulls her pistol and pulls the trigger as it expands, firing a bullet through the flow of deep blue dripping and running over the hard angles and dented surface of his smashed helmet. She doesn't hear or feel his own bullet as it just grazes off the plate of her upper arm, nor does she care as his heavy form collapses at her feet.

"That was stupid, Jane." A heavy, scolding tone in that voice she knows and loves has her turning to him, helmeted chin lifted in disapproval.

"What? He's dead."

"He wasn't when he should have been. That's all that matters." Shaking his head with a growl, he closes in on her, offering a hand up.

"My shotgun was damaged, I didn't have the chance to pull another weapon without giving him a chance to-" she hisses when she puts weight on her hand, jerking it away and nearly falling back on her ass if his hand hadn't have snapped forward and wrapped talons in the front of her chest plate. "Fuck… YMIR must have landed on it."

He hums as he picks up her shotgun, clipping it to the holster on her back. "Get it looked at on the ship. Massani is moving with or without us."

Shifting her pistol to her left hand to hold at the ready against her thigh, she nods and follows him through the winding pathways of the crates, his assault rifle leading the way. Everything is quiet, but if there's one thing she's learned here, it's to expect the unexpected.  _Like the sky falling in the form of a giant fucking mech_.

"Bout Goddamn time you two sodding lovebirds decided to get your bloody heads out your arseholes."

Ignoring his jab, Jane steps forward as Garrus in turn takes watch of their six. All that lies before them is the unguarded stairwell up the catwalk and door beyond where, if this wasn't all for nothing, Vido Santiago awaits.

"Vakarian, do the numbers match to the bodies?" She flexes her bad hand, most likely broken if not horrendously sprained. "I don't want anyone coming up in our asses if we can help it."

"Numbers match. Not getting readings of vitals here. No telling what lies ahead."

Taking that as okay, they step onto the lift and begin to climb the metal stairs, their boots doing nothing in terms of silent ascension. With Zaeed in the lead, her in between due to her injury and less than satisfactory skills at firing with her off hand, and Garrus at their six and taking the steps two at a time backwards – _show off –_  they make it up the catwalk in eerie silence.

True to their tactics – and the old Turian merc's word – when they pry open the door of an obviously built on attachment to the factory, revealing a nice, if utilitarian, dwelling. Directly through the doors that are now useless thanks to the force they had to use to nearly pull them off their hinges with Omni-Tools and hands, is a large Loft turned home for a sniveling, cowardly mercenary boss.

"Vido, you Goddamn coward. Show yourself!" Massani shouts as he stomps into the chill air of the home that lays in such stark contrast to the floor below. His mismatched eyes scan and, not catching sight of his intended target, he yells in adulterated rage and kicks at the back of one of the couches, booted foot ripping effortlessly through the back of the upholstery. "That bloody, bare-faced, fucking-"

"Shut it," Garrus snaps as his head swivels, scanning the room with senses both natural and aided by his helmeted visor. Ignoring the irritated look from the old merc, the Turian steps around the team and stalks into the sectioned off bedroom area, head tilting to angle his ear to whatever he's seeking. Like the predator he is finding his hidden prey, he growls as he immediately zeroes in on the bed, grabbing the edge of the mattress and starting to dig talons in, ripping.

"Have you gone fucking daft, you damned bird?"

"Help me or lose your man. Your choice, Massani," he snaps without further explanation, still not setting his weapon down and only using the one hand for his task of disemboweling the plush bedding. He really does look insane – or daft, as Zaeed put it – but Jane has long since stopped questioning some of the things Garrus is capable of, so, instead of standing there with her thumb up her ass, she joins him, trying to help him pull off the heavy mattress from the bed frame as he seems to be doing.

Unconvinced, Massani merely scowls deeper. "You both are out of your damned-"

"Holy shit," she interrupts as their efforts reveals what looks like a seal along the upper edge of the huge, seemingly solid bed frame. "It's a panic room… in a bed. A panic bed."

That catches the mercs attention, as he goes from stewing in his own anger and frustration to approaching in almost wide eyed shock – maybe not, but it's close enough and much better than going from pissed to less pissed and unlikely to ever admit they were on to something without it first being his idea. "Jesus-fucking-Christ, Vido, you paranoid sunova bitch. Getter open!" Three sets of eyes look around to each other, no one knowing that such a 'bed vault' even existed before today, let alone how to open it. "It must have a fucking command somewhere. Look for it!"

"One day we need to work on your habit of trying to boss everyone around old man." They don't argue, however, because they know that, even if it  _was_ technically given to them as an order, he's right. There must be something to control the tech if the supposed Commander – now dead – downstairs put Santiago in there.

Occasionally – meaning whenever Zaeed gets bored or irate from looking and not fining anything and instead thinks that kicking the damned thing with open it – they could hear thumps and bumps from inside the chamber. It's enough to make them believe they have finally cornered their man and, when Jane finally finds something that looks important on the desk in the 'study' area of the Loft in the form of a datapad, she can't help the giddy rush of adrenaline and a job being so close to being down.

Opening the pad and starting to scroll for anything that may mention a 'safe house', 'panic room' or, hell, even 'bed', she finds something that might proof helpful, if not insightful as to who they are up against. Reading quickly through it –  _'Tyranis Kryte will lead on-site guards' blah, blah 'personally entrust with my safety', 'heavily rewarded', 'ensure safety here in my home'. Here we go…_

"Someone check to see if there's a command console on the bedframe of headboard. Should look like a key pad or something." She frowns as she tries to find anywhere in the constant on-and-on on the message of a code, but can't seem to find anything. "Fuck… any way you can hack it, Garrus?"

He doesn't respond past a concentrating rumble as he – with Zaeed spectating from over his shoulder – pries off the face plate of the command console, examining it. Leaving the apparently useless pad aside –  _leave it to us for our luck to run out on idiot mercs just leaving their valuable data out in the open_ – she approaches to offer help should he need it, but judging by her numerous previous 'attempts' she doubts he would.

She watches as he uses his tool to solder some wires, breaking connections where they exist and creates one anew in a manner that seems entirely like he's just playing around. Massani is surprisingly quiet as he watches, letting the younger man manually force his way into the system of a machine, and, shocking to them all, there's a spark shortly followed by a mechanical whir as the massive safe of the bed frame begins to shift.

Contrary to how they believed the safe box would open – with doors swinging open from under the mattress to reveal a small alcove one would lay in before returning everything back as it was – they actually have to step back as the side panels shift and slide up under the upper wall, any users meant to roll into their safety. Yet, true to their suspicions, the panic box is not empty and, in fact, the man they came all this way is if fact within, flinching and trying to burrow against the back wall in attempt at escape from his fate.

"Massani. Come on," he pleads, his hands lifting before his head even in the shadows of the small, ventilated alcove of his safety. "You gotta know it was never personal. Just business, I swear."

"Business." The scarred man snorts derisively. "Oh, I know how business goes." White and grey eyes look to her and her mate, followed by a quick motion to 'back off' as he reaches for a bottle of expensive looking liquor from the bedside table, letting it fall to the floor with a shattering of glass and flowing of amber liquid. It puddles around his boots and starts to trail into the panic chamber as he takes in hand that battered old rifle he loves so much, enough so to even name it while he crouches down to be on better level with the cowering, hidden man from his past. "And it turns out you and I have a last bit of business to take care of."

"I, uh… I don't know what you mean. Look, Zaeed, it was twenty-"

"Burn in hell, you son of a bitch." His voice is low, nearly a growl, as he pops out the almost critical heat sink from his rifle, aiming it directly into the small compartment that is meant to provide safety.

Only now, it offers nothing for the man but a tomb as the overheated sink – and damn did Zaeed not just complain about that problem on his rifle not too many missions ago – instantly catches fire to the alcohol when they come into contact, spreading easily to devour the vapors collected in more concentrated amounts within the compartment's confines. His screams, however, are muffled as the avenged mercenary yanks the makeshift hotwiring from the console, letting the door slam shut to seal within the small chamber the pain and agony of a man burned and buried alive.


	46. Chapter 46

-Garrus-

Heading down to Engineering to drop off a datapad of his readings before they finishing the docking for the Citadel for a short handful of hours of leave and requisition, he's surprised to hear a shout of disbelief followed by laughs. He lifts a brow plate and looks around the machinery and sees the most peculiar sight of Tali, Ilden, Engineers Donnelly and Daniels, and Jane all sitting on the floor playing cards, of all things.

"Oh. Hey, Garrus," Tali greets with crescent eyes that makes him know she's smiling, whether from their game of his arrival, he isn't sure. "Is that the readouts from the Main Battery?"

His mate leans back from her spot at his feet, looking up to him with a smirk when her back rests against his shin guards. "Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me, or are you  _actually_ out and about during your 'calibration time'? Quick, someone go see if the Reapers just miraculously surrendered."

"Aye. Good to know the only problem we'll be havin' is the Commander stealing away all my credits. Can't believe I fell for that double or nothin'." The man with the lilting accent tosses his hand of cards onto the ground, spent and done with playing in a huff of exasperation.

"Perhaps you should've been looking at your cards and not the Commander's missing button." Daniels chuckles and smirks as the man's wide eyes snap up to Garrus.

"Shh, woman," he tries to snap in authority as Jane bursts into laughter. "Don' tell the man. It wasn't nothing serious."

"There isn't a single button I can imagine missing to make that statement anywhere near 'nothing serious'," the Turian deadpans, only making the man go paler and the Commander guffaw louder.  _Let it be known that my mate is not likely to show mercy when there is amusement to be had._

One hand on her stomach, the other in the air in a calming gesture, the red headed woman starts to gasp for air. The others look to her, expecting something from her once she can manage to contain herself. She takes a deep breath before smirking and it's almost worth the test of his will not to stake a claim to see her in one of her good moods as, lately, it's seemed like she's been a constant fluctuation across the spectrum.

"Okay, first," she holds up a finger as she lifts a brow towards his own direction. "You are the reason for the missing button and seeing as how nearing all my clothes are either completely ruined-"

"Keelah…"

"-or missing parts, you have no place to be pissed when I have to walk around with under par clothes. And  _second_ ," she adds before he can disagree. "I just made enough credits to purchase the best dextro food on the market." She smirks up at him shamelessly and swats his boot with a chit. "So your arguments about my poker habits are invalid."

"I'm allowed to at least half complain," he responds with a raised brow and challenging – but entirely playful – rumble. "Seeing as how half of those supplies are going to Tali."

"Please don't include me in this," the Quarian remarks with a shake of her head, one of the youngest – yet most mature – of the current group.

Jane chuckles with a glance to the young girl before looking back up to him. "Besides, I didn't even use my tits until the very end. The final stroke, as I'd like to coin it."

"I call fowl," Kenneth protests with a huff and thrown up hands. "I wouldn't have betted the Commander had I known she had a poker face to talk down Quarian Admirals."

"What can I say?" She shrugs with a smirk as those around her start to slowly stand and brush off their uniforms. "When I yell loud enough, people listen. It's my specialty."

Garrus snorts as he offers a hand up, lifting her weight up off the floor easily. "Except when it's the Council."

"Eh… can't win them all," she offers with a shrug, though he knows she doesn't really carry such a nonchalant attitude of the appointed heads of the galaxy. The ship-wide announcement of their completed docking echoes through the deck and the present crew look to her, expectant. "Yeah, yeah. Get the hell off my ship and don't let me see you until leave is over."

Crouching to help her collect up the cards and chits – her winnings – he doesn't notice those of the crew that have stayed until he glances over to see the toes of boots. Standing reveals their guest to be the younger of their Drell crew, waiting patiently with his hands clasped.

"Ilden," Jane says with a raised brow and glance around in search for Tali, the young Quarian not usually far from her friend and obvious mate. "I thought I told everyone to fuck off."

"True, but I am aware of your 'open-door policy' concerning our own personal matters that needs be done before our final journey beyond the Omega-4 Relay?" She nods, a silent encouragement to continue. "It seems that I find myself in need of your help when I had thought I was without burdens and, after seeing how you managed to assist Tali without need for violence-"

"Not counting the Geth?" She interrupts with a raised brow.

"-Not counting the Geth, true. What I'm referring to, actually, was the Admiralty Board." He stops, taking a deep breath as he lets his eyes slip closed for a moment. When he opens them, he has the slight sheen to his eyes that Garrus has noticed will happen with a Drell slips into a memory. However, unlike Thane, who tends to allow his memories to consume his body and vocals as well as his mind, it seems that the younger Drell can at least close himself off. He is unsure which of the two is considering the normal form of reliving memories, the older, jade and emerald or the younger, indigo and sapphire. Either way, he isn't left to ponder it long when the young Drell continues.

"My apologies, Commander. I don't tend to slip into my memories, but for the times when… when my mother is involved." He frowns and dips his head, hands falling to his sides with loosely balled fists. "My mother is the only family I have ever known. She raised me and taught me everything I know. I am in need of someone to help me make sure she makes it to a transport safely."

"Wait." Jane's brows furrow in confusion, growing silent as she starts to piece what she's hearing with what lies between the words. "It's obvious your mom needs an escort from something big, meaning that she's someone important at least to someone willing to harm her. One, why isn't she already on Kahje like mostly  _all_ the other Drell?" She holds up a hand. "And before you all start with the 'racist' or 'specist' bullshit, it's just plain obvious that there aren't but a handful of Drell out of Hanar space, so if you want to hide, being one of the  _ten_  bastards out there isn't the smartest plan. And, two, just who the fuck is after her? And why? Because of you?-"

"-Or because of what  _she_ taught  _you_ ," Garrus growls, putting the pieces together. "I've never heard or seen a Drell leave space controlled by the Illuminated Primacy, not unless they have a specific purpose. That purpose usually to do what the Hanar can't." He crosses his arms, a low hum in his vocals of agitation from thinking back to this man's former, or current - which sounds more logical considering the Drell had to have had an occupation during the past two years – occupation. "So which did she teach you? The illegal data access or the assassination? Or both?"

When Jane looks to him with a raised brow, the young Drell actually has the decency to look ashamed – or at least contemplative – of the truth surfacing. "You are partially true. My mother was a former information thief for the Hanar who would employ her and she did manage to pass on her teachings to me, but that was only in her youth. It has been many years since she was release from her service." He raises his eyes to the Commander. "Unfortunately, it seems that my work for the Shadow Broker at times has caused her to fall into danger."

"The Broker screwed you, did he?" Jane asks in a way that speaks of her already knowing the answer, to which the man nods slightly. "Probably pretty pissed he couldn't sell me to the Collectors, so what's to stop him from screwing over one of my crew."

"Perhaps," Ilden admits. "Or perhaps he is angered that I have decided to terminate my obligation to him as my employer in order to join your crew."

She shrugs, rolling her eyes as she says, "yeah, tomato. Tomato." That leaves both aliens pausing, the Drell's brows furrowing as Garrus rumbles in confusion. "Jesus," she huffs in exasperation, "it's like saying there's no damn difference how you say it, it amounts to the same fucking thing." She repeats, slower this time, "Tomato. Tomato."

"We're not deaf, Jane," he narrows his eyes, trying to judge if she's just using the language and translator barrier to entertain herself by confusing her Turian husband. "Saying it slowly still leaves you saying 'tomato' twice, whatever that is. Is it commonplace for humans to repeat random words?"

She's quiet for a moment, eyes narrowed as she stares up at him and he stares back down with a raised brow plate before she snorts. Lifting a hand to her forehead, she shakes her head with a slight chuckle. "Jesus Christ, you aliens and shitty translators. Never mind, not important. Ilden, Kal, whatever you like to be called. What do we need to do to help out your mother? Where is she?"

"Actually, she is here, on the Citadel." His lips quirk in a soft smile at the thought. "We shouldn't need to do much besides safely escort her from one transport to another when she arrives."

"Which means it's most likely going to turn into fucking mess because that's just our luck." She sighs with a nod as they head out of Engineering and towards the lift, all three stepping on. Once on their way up, she continues. "So when is she expected to arrive?"

"Today." He crosses his hands behind his back, dropping his head in thought. "By the Normandy's time, she should be docking within the next one hundred and fifteen minutes."

"Not long, then." Flat, white teeth chew on a lip as her fingers drum on the forearm of her opposite arm crossed across her chest. "You head to the dock and scout it out while Garrus and I get kitted up. Send us your coordinates and we'll stay on the ground, provide a welcome mat for whoever may be tailing your mom."

"Speaking of which," Garrus includes as they step out onto the CIC, stopping before the glowing Galaxy Map. "Just who is going to be after your mother? You must have some idea."

"From what she has told me, it is a group of Vigiles." Garrus groans with a heavy sigh.  _Wonderful,_  he thinks with little joy.

"What? What's that?" Jane's green eyes look between the two. "Human's lost. What are Vigiles?"

"They're the Hierarchy's police force," the Turian explains with a low growl. "You think C-Sec's bad? They are  _much_  worse."

Ilden nods. "Yes, my mother once intercepted and sold valuable data that was sent between Generals concerning a very vital appointment of a Turian colony's Primarch. It was the defining factor of who was granted the seat."

"She knows how to piss off the right people, it seems." She turns to Garrus, sure to ask what he really doesn't want to try to find a way to answer that doesn't end up involving them in open combat with a Turian Vigile force  _in the middle of the Citadel._ "So. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"Honestly?" She lifts a brow and nods in a silent 'no, not honestly, smartass'. "I have no choice but to say that we have to avoid gaining their attention from the start, but-"

"-That's definitely not possible."

"Right," he confirms with a nod. "So the next option is to try to distract them long enough to be able to throw them off Ilden's mother's trail in between jumping ships. Vigiles have their own ships, they travel in small groups – maybe even alone considering C-Sec's control of the station – and they are strict when it concerns jurisdiction. You think the Turians here on the station are too rigid with protocol, then you don't know a Vigile." He pauses with a hum, mandible flicking in an idea. "Actually, we might be able to use that to our advantage."

"Oh?" She smirks with a raised brow in interest. "By all means, Archangel," she makes a flourish with her hand, "show us that strategic strategizing."

"If they are hunting your mother in order to take her back to Hierarchy space, then they will need to work within the jurisdiction of C-Sec regulations. C-Sec won't allow someone to extradite an alien from the Citadel unless they have their own hands in the arrest, but since C-Sec is of majorly Turian design, it has loopholes any good Vigile can take advantage of."

"You're assuming they will?" Ilden asks, face tense in concern for his mother after the information of the shadowy hunter following his mother's trail.

"Of course they will," Garrus assures with a grin. "It's not a loophole that goes against any regulation, so it's not  _unbecoming_  of one to use it. It entails chain of command and authority, putting a Vigile higher than nearly all of the C-Sec officers who would be involved. Odds are that they are one of the higher ranking of the order and, if I'm right, then their pride is worth more than losing their target to unnecessary technicalities. They will want to track down and arrest your mother on their own, without the help of C-Sec, who they deem  _lesser_."

He growls at the memory of a very specific Vigile in his memories who he isn't ashamed to admit is the very foundation of his theory. A very typical Turian of Turians who would most likely be at such a high ranking after the years and who would –  _absolutely_ – use such an underhanded - yet not when considering the politics of the two colliding policing forces, one centralized to a single station and the other more expansive – method of obtaining his suspect.

The voice of his mate snaps him out of his memory as she rubs her hands together, something she tends to do when getting pumped up for a mission, usually while they are all strapped into the Shuttle's harnesses, shoulder to shoulder, armors clanging against the other. "Alright, so you're saying that we're most likely going to be free of C-Sec if this guy is a self-absorbed prick."

"In not so colorful of words, yes."

"Then Ilden, you worry about finding and getting your mom into the crowds, disappearing while you make it to her next transport. Garrus and I will worry about getting these Vigiles attentions, distracting them, and trying to keep them occupied without actually shooting anything." Ilden nods, taking it as a dismissal and heading to the airlock to start his preparations.

Alone, his wife huffs with a slight pout to her lip. "No clue how I'm supposed to do this without  _also_  getting arrested, but I'll think of something."

"Please do. I'd rather not spend any time in either a C-Sec or Vigile's holding cell." She snorts with a look over to him of 'you're no fun', but he ignores it as he follows her towards the armory –  _just in case_.

"Tell me, Garrus." She removes her uniform jacket, boots, and pants in order to pull on the undersuit. "These Vigiles. By the way you acted, you seemed like you have a problem with them. What, are they like Justicars or something?"

He chuckles at the absurdity of their ever being something like that in such a strict Turian society filled with rules and limitations. "No, fair from it, actually. They mostly stick to Turian space because there's rarely any crime that involves the Hierarchy happening outside of Heirarchy space. You won't see a Vigile walk into a city and strike down whatever crime they see by executing without question, that makes too much sense." She snorts at that, snapping on her leg guards. "And my own reaction wasn't for the Vigile force as a whole, though I do share about the same feeling for it as I do C-Sec, but more for a particular officer." She stops at that, raising a brow in intrigued questioning, but he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. It's not important."  _He probably hasn't left Palaven since before dad vented to that entire side of the family about how irate I was that he blocked my Spectre admission._

"Ah. So you're problem is just that this will be a pain in the ass because we can't solve it with bullets." Snapping on the last of her armor, she accepts her weapons despite their intent. Let it be known that they are always prepared for the worst – and most likely – of outcomes. "I get you. I'll be sure to annoy these assholes extra hard for you." She grins with a balled fist as she looks off into the distance. "For my C-Sec, regulations, and red-tape hating husband. This one's for you, honey."

Snorting with an amused rumble to his vocals, he snaps her shotgun onto her back hip holster, using the movement as a chance to drop his hand to swat the armor of her rear playfully, hinting at a tease to the softness beneath. "You act like I won't be right there with you doing a bit of my own annoying citizen act."

She chuckles as they head out onto the Ward, receiving a passing message stating the location of where they will need to be for Ilden's mother's docking ship. Luckily, her transport will have to dock on the same Ward as the Normandy, if but a bay away. It would explain the larger collective of people in the crowds here on Zakera when compared to even the busiest days they last docked, everyone must be either waiting for loved ones to arrive or for their chance to take the same ship to some far off destination.

"Garrus, while we're here, I want to stop here and get yours and Tali's dextro rations." She stops before a food supply shop, the signs advertising 'Great Food. Just Like Home!'.  _I'll be the judge of that. Can't possibly be worse than paste or Mess Sergeant Gardner's 'human/Turian fusion'._

He nods as she steps in, deciding to wait at the threshold of the establishment to keep an eye out, ingrained habits dying hard. Plus, it's not like he really has all that much interest in listening to Jane's various methods of 'bartering' that range anything from insults, threatening, and strong arming to bribery, flattering, and flirting – which he doesn't find amusing  _at all_. While sometimes entertaining, and very often very beneficial to their credit account, he doesn't always understand the amount of effort she puts into saving a handful of credits.

 _Unless…_  he thinks with a glance into the store.  _Unless it's just as much about the thrill of stalking down and taking the single, fatal shot right between the proverbial eyes of whatever merchant unlucky enough to be caught in her sights._

As if she knows what he's thinking, she looks up to him with a glint in her eyes, that one she gets when she takes out a particular enemy with brutal efficiently and leaves him hot under his codpiece. His mandible flicks in amusement that tells her he isn't impressed, when he knows she sees right through it, and she smirks before her eyes focus on something past him, narrowing.

Rumbling, he turns to see what's caught her attention and sees a triplet of Krogan approaching with determined strides – or stomps, as Krogan tend to only be capably of – and deep, angry scowls on their faces. He growls, ready for a fight and damning the fact that it'll most likely ruin their chances at assisting Ilden with his task without alerting the Vigiles that are sure to be around this level somewhere, but he's stopped when his mate steps out of the store.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," she says as she steps between the two species, the Krogan clearing on the war path for the two of them. "It's obvious you must have some sort of… intention with my associate and myself, but I must request we avoid any violence. Especially considering the fact that he and I have more weapons than your – let's count them, oh right –  _zero_  weapon arsenal-"

"Shut it, human," the oldest of the Krogan snaps, his plates dry, cracked, and flaking from age. Even one of his large golden eyes is milky with age, something Garrus hadn't even considered could happen to the self-healing species, although, he's sure he may never have seen one as old as the one before him. If Wrex, who Garrus knows has seen many battles over many years, is even the same age as this one, then he certainly wears the years better.  _Never thought I'd say Wrex looked good in any situation…_

"You told this whelp that you knew if the Presidium had fish," the dusty looking Krogan accuses with a pointed finger in Jane's face, making her scowl in unimpressed annoyance. "Three! Three standard weeks he's being coming to wait here for you like he's sniffing after some female. It's disgraceful! Do you take us as nothing but entertainment, human bitch?"

Garrus snarls and steps forward to show this Krogan what happens to those who threaten his mate, but she speaks before he can, stilling him for the moment. "So let me get this straight. You think that just because I said something along the lines of 'would be interesting to know if that's true', that I was going to play errand bitch for your little boy toy?" She motions to the one Krogan that still possesses a few gaps between his plates, much like Grunt, with a raised brow added to her scowl.

That gets the group of Krogan growling and ready for a fight of their own and, though Garrus would like nothing more than to relive some of his best days as Archangel fighting Krogan dumb enough to think their pride was a better weapon than an actual gun, he sees a flash of white, red, and gold armor. He knows those colors, knows that this fight isn't worth failing this mission to transport Ilden's mother, so he forces himself to clamp down his vocals and maintain an air of calm patience.

"Look," he starts, drawing the narrowed eyes of the three Krogan. "The Presidium Lakes don't have fish. Those are reservoirs for the drinking supply-"

"Nobody asked you, skulled faced, clanless Kirok!" The older Krogan growls, pointing a harsh, accusing finger right over Jane's head at him.

"Again with that fucking insult that doesn't translate-"

"You fucking Turians," he continues, interrupting and ignoring Jane. "You think you're so superior just because you spineless bastards set a bomb on Tuchanka, sterilized your true superiors-"

"Okay, that's probably pushing it a bit."

"-I don't need my weapons to put you in your place, if only you'd grow a fucking quad and stop hiding behind your female bitch-"

"Hey," she barks, glaring in anger at that title again, but still nod getting through the Krogan's thick – literally – skull. "What the fuck?"

"-I can show you what we did to Turians during the Rebellions to teach them their place." He sneers and drops a hand to his crotch, making Garrus flick a mandible in unmoved disgust for the blatant, and unimaginative threat.

It seems to bother his mate, however, as her fists tighten in an audible creak of her gloves before she steps before the Krogan and punches him in the throat, cutting off his amused, gravely rumbling with a squeak. He gasps and steps back, holding his throat as he coughs, a high pitched whine mixed in that sounds odd coming from such a big species.

"Alright, listen here, asshole." She stands over him, even when she actually rises before many species, by sheer authority which, admittedly, makes Garrus quite amused to just stand back and watch. "One, I don't owe you or your friends anything. Two, you may not have asked, but part of charging us includes Garrus putting his two cents in. And three, those insults – wait. Are you  _crying_?"

" _No!_ " the older Krogan practically squeaks, ducking his head with subsequent sniffles and whistling wheezes. "It just… just hurt, is all."

Garrus looks over to his wife, both stunned at such a rapid switch from threatening, foaming at the mouth Krogan battlemaster material, to sniffling, wheezing, and whining child. He raises a brow plate at the same time she raises her own red brow just before her face shifts, like a cascade of expression, into fighting back amusement.

Snorting before bursting into laughter, Jane's stern, Commander Shepard face collapses, to the frustration of the target of her amusement. "Jesus Fuck. What the fuck was that?" The man's eyes narrow at her as he barely regains his breath. "First you're all 'I'm a big bad Krogan, urgh' and a punch takes you down?" She barks out another fit of laughter, close to the point that even Garrus is starting to wonder about just what this mission is doing to her sanity.

Shaking her head, she smiles and offers a hand to the Krogan, saying. "Look, I think we should start anew. Name's Commander Shepard and, unfortunately for your friend and my own Krogan back on the ship, Garrus, here, is right about the Presidium. I asked a groundskeeper," she shrugs as he takes her hand stiffly, obviously not sure what a handshake is. "Admittedly, I probably should have told your buddy so he wasn't expecting a fish or something." He grunts with a huff, as if pouting. "Aw, come on, you old, grouchy shit. I'm trying to be civil so I don't have to kick your ass again."

He blinks and looks at her, uncertainty of her words on his face, before he finally sighs with a tired growl. "Nodin," he says to the ground, barely offering a truce.

"Hm?" Jane says, with an exaggerated turn of her ear towards him. "I'm sorry, must be getting old. What was that?"

He groans with a frustrated growl, typical Krogan finding it hard to ever admit either defeat or compromise, and speaks louder. "Nodin. The whelp is Kargesh and his clan brother is Rukar." The other two, not actually the recipients of getting put in their place by a tiny human female, manage to at least look at Jane and Garrus when they are introduced, fidgeting a bit in place.

"Well," she says as she crosses her arms. "Now that's settled. No, there are no fish up there. I don't know who is telling Krogan there are or putting that thought in your heads, but they're an asshole. And wrong." Sighing, she takes out a chit and motions with her head to the store behind her. "But seeing as how I was a bit of a dick for leaving you waiting for a simple answer – and because, quite frankly, that was entertaining as fuck to see a Krogan snivel," she ignores the elder Krogan's grumble, "how about some Ryncol? On Cerberus tab, too, so I'll even splurge for the good one."

That cheers the Krogan up tremendously, their eyes widening at the prospect. Garrus shakes his head with a rumble of exasperation at just how his wife can ever manage to get along with such people as she slips into the store, returning not a moment later with a bottle of Ryncol, barely fitting into her hands.

Nodin, as he has introduced himself, grins as he takes it happily, finally seeming to warm up to the tiny human Commander. "Shepard, you said? You know the way of the Krogan to offer Ryncol as a peace offering."

"Learned from the best." She grins as Garrus snorts silently. He knows well what she's learned from just that short celebration after they killed the Thresher Maw and he isn't quite sure if he's willing to admit just  _how much_ she tends to be like her Krogan friend.  _'Look, Garrus. Our little Krogan baby is growing up so fast and getting breeding requests all his own!'_

Seeing that flash of white, red, and gold armor again, he motions to Jane to hurry it up with the Krogan, turning his eyes and visor to finding and tracking that armor so they can move in on them when time comes. That armor, so distinct in the civilian clothes milling about the station, is something which most wouldn't see outside of Hierarchy space and it usually brings nothing but headaches and frustrations when outside that designated space, but it  _does_  help pinpoint.

"You find one of the Vigiles, Garrus," he hears his wife ask, the Krogan moved on to share in their newly acquired spirits. Nodding when he catches it, a Commander of the force by the more elaborate markings and paints on his armor, he targets them with his visor so as not to lose them when they start to move. "Good, I just got word that our ship arrived at the dock. Ilden is moving in. Lead on."

Moving through the crowds towards the Commanding officer of the Vigiles forces so that they can have a close proximity when the signal is given, he doesn't know that his feet have stopped moving, eyes widening at the visual of the Commander's face, until he feels the air on his plates of a hand waving in front of his face. Standing there, in white armor with gold and red pin striping and flourishes, is the one man he never, in all his life, wanted to see again, Severus Vakarian, his cousin and everything he never was in his father's eyes.

"Dammit," he curses under a growl, finally turning to his mate. "Jane, I know that Vigile."

"Yeah?" Her eyes widen and she tries to lift on her toes to look over some of the taller of the crowd. "How the hell is he? Someone from home?" Motioning her face to illustrate the Cipritine markings as her eyes narrow. "Fuck, Garrus, that guy could be your brother." Another growl erupts from his throat, unbidden, and she lifts a brow at him, turning to see his expression as her own widens in shock. "No shit? You  _know_  know that guy?"

Sighing, he nods with tense mandibles –  _mandible, the one is still uselessly bound to his chin so it won't fall off according to Chakwas_. "He's my cousin. There's no way he won't recognize me. Even with," he motions his face, "this."

"Would it be in bad taste if I said at least it's not me being the distraction?" He throws her an unamused glare and she chuckles. "I can do it if you want to try to hunt out one of the others?"

"No," he sighs with a rub over his fringe, trying to think. Knowing Severus and his much better relationship with Garrus' other father, he will be bound to contact Titus Vakarian and lay out everything that happens here,  _especially_ how his son aided in obstruction Hierarchal justice upon a serious criminal. Not to mention his new visage and the miraculous rebirth of his supposed dead Commanding officer, who his family  _still_ has no clue Garrus is also  _married to_.

It will all come out with a simple call from his cousin and, though Garrus doesn't care too much about the truth, he would prefer it come out on his own terms, from his own lips, not that of the man he could never be, the son he knows his father wishes he was.  _It doesn't help that I also still haven't even attempted to broach the topic of mom's illness beyond speaking with Mordin and venting to Jane the night Sol all but disavowed me._

Feeling the soft caress of a hand against his, he looks up to green eyes searching his own. "You good?" she asks with a tilt of her head to show that she won't let him cut eye contact again. "I lost you for a second. It seems like this is some really bad blood."

He snorts with little humor. "Putting it lightly. Just running through all that will come from-"

"Spirits, Garrus. Is that you?" Silent curses run through his head as he slowly turns to look at the man so much like everything he could never, would never want, to be.

Severus, even in his garishly bright armor for Garrus' tastes, still looks just as he did all the years ago when they last met and which ended in a plate-cracking fist fight. In their youth, many would say the two same-aged cousins looked nearly identical, and they still would, if not for Garrus' new additions.

New additions the other Vakarian's eyes immediately focus one with a slight flick of his mandible in barely concealed distaste. "Spirits, Garrus. What happened to your face?"

"None of your damn business," he growls, fists tightening at his sides.

Lifting a brow plate, he looks to Garrus' mate, obviously recognizing her –if not from the news two years ago than surely from the overabundance of Alliance recruitment posters using her face as their symbol of service and duty. "Commander Shepard," he nods in respect, "do you often let your subordinates speak in such a way to superior officers?"

To her credit, she doesn't seem to care at all for the subtle hint of insult at her command within the question of Garrus' own 'lack of respect' as she crosses her arms with a smirk. "I don't know. I tend to like it when my crew defends themselves against nosy pricks asking such blatantly obnoxious questions like 'what the fuck happened to your face'."

Her horrible attempt at impersonating the other Turian makes him scowl slightly. "It seems like disrespect runs in the shoddy chain of command. No wonder the Council told the public you were dead than have to deal with the obvious press nightmare your horrible command would have presented."

"You shut your damn mouth about her." Stepping forward with a snarl and balled fist, Garrus steps into his cousin's space in personal challenge, the man's stern expression shifting a bit in subconscious defensiveness. "Insult me all you want because you know nothing else, but say anything about her, about those two years, and I don't give damn what charges you try to pin on me, Vigile, I will put you in your place."

"Seems like wherever dirty hole you were in did more than leave your face a ruined mess. Instead of tend to your ailing mother you decide to, what, follow your human Commander like a sick Varren?" Severus growls in turn, stepping closer so that the rounded chest plates of their shared armors clang and grind against the other with each movement. "Maybe it's for the better. With that face of yours, you're better off chasing a human for you certainly won't find a mate with our own kind, better to complete your parents' disappointment by lowering yourself with human cunn-"

Garrus tries to pride himself in putting up with quite a bit – and for that which he can't, he at least  _attempts_  – but his breaking point has always been Jane, her rights as his bondmate and wife. One of those being to protect her, both physically and verbally – especially when the insult won't even translate for her as a Turian vulgarity for her very  _private_  anatomy – and he has no problem with that stoic exterior cracking and letting Archangel out.

And let him out, he does, with a closed fisted, full bodied, punch right into the weaker nose plates of the man he's never, for the life of him, been able to get along with. It's almost satisfying until the call over their comm to move into action pulls him from his reverie at a perfectly landed blow. He has to keep his head into distracting the whole of the Vigiles from hunting down the Drells before they can jump another ship and disappear.

His job is done well when Severus stumbles back with a low growl, his broken nose instantly erupting into a deep navy flow, and calls for reinforcements over his comm. Smirking, he stands straighter, ignoring the way the blue drips over his white armor. "Dumb move, Garrus. Family doesn't mean anything here." He wipes some of his blood from his mouth as he circles, his own hands flexing for a fight, as if he wants a reason to for this detainment to be more difficult, to give him the chance to get Garrus back for the injury. "Assault on a Vigile is a heavy offense."

"Hiding behind your rank doesn't scare me, Severus." A glance to Jane shows that she's counting the approaching men, pretending to be watching in concern over her crew while she's actually gauging their getaway when the time comes.

When the time comes, when they must lose their Vigile tail, all they must do is find a way to get to the Normandy and disengage, heading for the Relay. Vigile ships, while efficient in maintaining speeds with most class ships, will not be able to force a docking procedure is such a highly occupied space as that between the Citadel and the Relay. Then, once they jump, they only have to travel to the Terminus, where they hold no jurisdiction to force a docking. That's all not considering the Normandy's stealth capabilities, so if that's how Ilden's mother managed to make it as far as she did, and will, then they only need to worry about losing Severus here.

Garrus just hopes Jane has an idea in her head as he ducks under a charge and uses the momentum to throw his cousin over his shoulder, hearing him land with a heavy grunt. "Getting slow. What was your hand to hand rank again?" He smirks, seeing in his peripheral Jane making a motion with her hand to signal four other Vigiles incoming.  _Hurry up, Ilden. I can't take on four armed men and one angry, bloody Commander._

"Keep talking, Garrus." Getting up, the man brings up his fists, fingers crooked for the use of his talons and swipes once before trying to kick, but Garrus deflects with a spur before throwing another punch aimed for the same sore spot he previously opened. Gasping, Severus jerks back with a low trill of pain.

" _Ground crew, priority shipment has been delivered. Shadow Scale returning Home. Recalling Fallen Angel and Kissed by Fire._ " Their signal to fall back and lose their tail.

With that, Jane nods to him in silent 'finish it' and he growls and gives his cousin a full footed kick to the midsection, sending the wide eyed, stunned from the unorthodox move Vigile tumbling into the crowd, sending a good amount of innocent Citadel citizens sprawling to the floor with him. Taking their chances with the others, he and his mate take off into the sprint for the docks, hearing the shouted order of "Those two. Apprehend them!"

"You better have a good idea besides 'run' to get us out," he growls as they dive in between surprised Asari, Humans, Turians, and Salarians milling about the Ward.

She still has a moment to snort as she ducks under a man's full arms of shopping bags and crates. "You mean besides beat the shit out of them?"

"He asked for it."

"Hey, you don't see me complaining." She glances over her shoulder. "Though they are gaining. Fucking grasshopper legs," she huffs under her breath as he checks behind them at their pursuers' closing proximity. True, if he was alone, he could outrun them, but it'll be the day that he dies if he doesn't slow down to stay in time with his wife's shorter legs.

"I got an idea," she says quickly just before she grabs his arm and yanks him slightly off-course, towards the Krogan from before.

"Now's not the time for-"

"Shut it!" Sliding to a stop, she grins at the Krogan. "Hey. The offer to share in the peace offering still up?" She waves her hands impatiently with a quick glance over her shoulder.

Chuckling, the much more pleasant to be around Nodin nods and offers it with a wavering hold. "Drink! Drink and feel the replenishing burn of the Ryncol!"

Garrus is completely confused by her logic on how this is supposed to get them out when he hears the quickly approaching Vigiles. About to just yell at her for finding  _now_ of all the times to drink, he watches as she pauses with the bottle to her lips and turns, whipping her arm back to shoot forward. The bottle shatters directly on Severus' bloody scowl, showering him and at least two of his men in the foul smelling, near acidic Krogan liquor.

Truly a testament to her abilities to predict the thoughts and reactions of drunk Krogan, which Garrus is afraid to question the reasoning or origins of, the three, obsessively drunk Krogan roar in outrage. "You! Turian!" Nodin booms as they stumble past him and Jane. "You think you can just take our Ryncol… and smash it?!"

Garrus can't fight the smug grin of satisfaction at the look on Severus' face at not only getting beaten down a notch of his imaginary tiers of superiority over him as Jane pulls him through the crowds, trying to mask their presence as they slip towards the docks. It isn't until they are safely in the airlock of a disengaging Normandy that he chuckles with a loud, heavy rumbling and pulls his wife to him, pressing his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss, tongue forcing his way in to wrap and tangle with hers.

She smirks against him as he pulls away just enough to speak against her lips. "Damn, Jane. How will I ever introduce you to the family now?"

"What? You don't think we'll look like the perfect pair in their eyes? The violent, bad Turian of a son and his Ryncol throwing, human wife?"

He snorts as he gently butts his head to hers as the airlock opens. "At this rate, we're going to need to come up with your own vigilante title. Archangel and Jane just doesn't have the kind of ring to leave people, what's the term?"

"Pissing their pants?" she supplies with a smirk as they head towards the Lift to get out of their armors.


	47. Chapter 47

-Garrus

"Shepard," the Blue Orb off in his peripheral intones, EDI not designed to interpret the rolling and heavy thrum filling the room and decide to offer  _privacy_. "Justicar Samara wishes to speak with you."

Growling, Garrus tightens his hold in the red hair tangled in his talons in a slight demand to 'stay', too far beyond the ability to just stop and return to coding the cannon's firing algorithms. That kind of work takes more brain cells than are currently at available for work right now.

She hums around him in understanding, making him moan and buck deeper, knowing she likes that slight danger of losing breath. He's proven right when she moans, eyes fluttering as she moves to try and recreate that sensation, as if he wouldn't want the same damn thing.

Smirking down at the sight of heated mischief in her darkened eyes when they lock with his, he holds her in place as he moves his hips in a more desperate pace, seeking completion. He's on a race against time, now, with the ship's AI and either he will finish first or it will, reclaiming his wife's attentions to the ship and its crew.

Maintaining eye contact becomes hard when she starts to suck, causing his toes to try to curl in his boots and hands tense around her scalp, but even that blinding white bliss can be interrupting by the insistent AI's intrusion, much to his displeasure.

"Shepard. Would you like me to inform Samara that you will speak to her at a later time?"

Sighing, Jane pulls away, much to his displeasure and urgent frustration as he growls, clenching his eye against the urge to put his fist through the AI's holographic projector. He can _not_ just stop and tuck himself painfully back into his armor, pretend he wasn't balancing just on the precipice.

She wipes her lips with the back of her hand as she turns to the Al's image, despite the fact that she doesn't need to in order to address EDI. "Tell Samara she can wait. We aren't even done with docking procedures."

There is a pause, almost like EDI is debating between what is being said and what should be passed on, and Garrus takes the moment to comb his talons through her hair, rumbling in desperate need.  _Please, Jane…_

Eventually, the Main Battery fills with more than just their sounds of shared pleasure as she licks him from base to tip before wrapping her lips around him again. He can't help the grunt and jerk of his hips when she goes directly down to his sheath, flexing that amazing throat around him. She's bobbing around him with occasional hums and sighs that leave his previous irritation fading away with a thrumming purr as he closes his eyes.

His reprieve is gone, though, when the insistent AI –  _I will kill whatever programmer didn't think to program EDI with the ability to 'get the hint'_  – speaks once again. "She requests that you see her in the Starboard Observation before the docking procedures are completed." Jane rolls her eyes at that and releases him with a 'pop' before making a mocking face, moving her lips in gapping motion as EDI continues. "She insists it is of utmost importance that she speak with you before you administer Shore Leave to the crew, including yourself," it reminds, but he's too preoccupied with her mouth on him again to actually agree that, yes, Jane does need this break.

Proving that she is really hearing the closest thing to a scolding from the Intelligence, she snorts around him and it makes her throat clench around the tip of him, bringing out a stuttered growl of surprise and pleasure. His hand tightens in her hair as he pulls her close, encouraging to do that again, and answers for her while her mouth is currently occupied with something he'd much rather she be doing.

"It can wait, EDI," he grits out through clenched teeth, really needing the damned Justicar and her messages through the AI to go away so he can enjoy this, just this one moment of peace between the long days of duty and never ending work. "Just tell her we're in the middle of something-"

Jane interrupts with a smirk on her flushed lips and in her dark eyes, tongue quickly flicking to the corner of her mouth to catch some of his fluids that have slipped past. "Like  _calibrations_."

Before he can correct or respond to that, she silences him once again by returning him to that sweet and wet warmth of her mouth, cutting whatever he could have said into a loud moan. This is better anyways and he's so close that his hands are clenching behind his control in her fiery hair, his knees getting that shaky feeling of an imminent climax.

She obviously likes the slight sting from his unintended pull on her air as she moans, the vibration the final push he needs before he's growling deep with his head thrown back and mandibles flared as he cums. Panting, he feels her pressure of her throat milking him with her swallows, extending his pleasure.

After only a few moments that really seem to draw on for a blissful eternity, he finally lets his knees give in, bringing him to the floor spent and sated. Her on the cold Batter floor, he pulls her to him with a heavy purr, kissing her as she smirks around his seeking tongue before joining with her own, letting him taste himself mixed with her natural taste. She can have her smug sense of accomplishment, she deserves it after successfully knocking him off his feet and seeing to that itch under his plates caused by his frustrations on the cannon.

Pulling away despite his exasperated huff, she chuckles with a shake of her head. "Now I'm going to have to deal with Samara knowing I was just sucking the chrome of your hitch."

"My what?" he asks with a quirk of a brow plate and questioning rumble, to which she smirks, opens her mouth, and pumps a fist in front of her mouth –  _classy, Jane_. He rolls his eyes and gives up trying to extend this period of their intimate time together, instead carding his talons through the hair his hands dislodged from her braided bun. "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

Snorting, she playfully makes attempts at trying to swat his hands away. "It's not that I  _care_  about the look, just that I'd much rather not have the chuckles when I'm trying to 'meditate' with her because I'm imagining her on the other side of the door."

"Ignoring the fact that she probably wasn't waiting outside the door, you have any idea why she was in such an eager mood to speak with you. Even going as far as asking EDI to find you despite the obvious," he asks with a motion to the bright red of the door's lock.

"I think it has to do with that fugitive she's been chasing. You know, the one whose ship we had to figure out before she joined up?"

"I also remember her agreeing to drop it until after the mission," he supplies, somehow expecting it to come back despite the Justicar's 'Oath' to leave it alone until she was 'released from her duty' to Jane.

"Yeah, well…" She simply shrugs, either not wanting to remark on the fact that, yes, she  _did_ say that and now isn't abiding to it or that she had most likely assumed the Justicar just wouldn't let her target go from the very beginning. "I guess the imminent, looming Omega-4 makes people want to get shit done once and for all."

Sighing, he shakes his head. "For once, I'd like to see someone actually do what they say. You'd think a Justicar, out of everyone on this ship, would see the hypocrisy in her Oaths."

"Uh huh," she says with a smirk. "What a shame that everyone has shit to do before we all maybe, possibly, most likely die horrible deaths. Good thing my wonderful, amazing, intelligent husband didn't have such a task."

Playing her game, he purrs with an equally knowing smirk. "At least that handsome, excellent shot, and sexy mate of yours had the common courtesy to say what he wanted up front." She snorts at that, chuckling, and he cups her face, stroking his thumb over the scarring on her cheek that glimmers in the low lights. "Honestly, I don't care if you help your crew. I understand the need and support it, but what if this turns out just like when you helped Zaeed? Samara doesn't work well with others, at least not when it comes to the Justicar business."

"I don't think she's going to go halfcocked and blow a refinery, Garrus."

"No, but what do you think will happen if it came down to her quarry or following an order you give?"

"I don't think that will be an issue," she responds as she grabs his discarded codpiece, running her fingertips over the smooth metal. "She says her Code is black and white, so I don't she'll screw us."

He knows that entirely the wrong thing to believe because Archangel lives in a world of black and white. True, he played the board with both allies and enemies alike in order to knock down the higher, more fortified targets, letting the lesser pawns fall under the corpses of their crashing power figures, but he knows better than to imagine the Justicar ever doing such a thing.

No, Samara is clearer cut, you do wrong and you die, end of story. It's that thinking that he knows will get them into trouble because it is a way of mind meant more for an individual, a solitary warrior who has no limitations, no chances to have an ally prevent their ultimate task from being accomplished. After all, it was how Archangel's proverbial halo was so close to becoming his noose after the mercs used his own against him.

"Garrus?" Jane tilts her head into his sight, narrowing her eyes. "You were thinking… I don't like when you do that."

He chuckles and takes the codpiece from her hands. "If not for that, this gun would be more a giant hulk of whatever substandard weapon Cerberus had  _and_  you wouldn't be able to make it dance the way I can." Snorting, she playfully pushes him even if he barely budges.

"Still, I want you with me out there no matter what Samara says. She wants me to help her, then I'm doing it my way, not the Justicar way."

"That's the Jane I know," he rumbles in amusement as she grins.

"Be sure to bring your gun." She kisses him before standing up, brushing off her rear and giving him a good view. "Oh," she includes with a smirk. "And you might as well bring your rifle too. In case we find ourselves a fight."

* * *

Of course Aria would be the one to lead them to their best lead on Samara's target – which also, in some sadistic sort of paradox, also turned out to be her very own  _daughter –_ with the lead of a recent suspicious death.

It didn't come as a surprise to him at all to know that they merely had to state their intended target before she offered a direct location to start. Considering that the self-proclaimed Queen would have to be consciously ignorant of any and all possible resistances or hindrances to her strangle-hold on the station, he also wasn't all that surprised when Aria was quick to rush them out of her club and ultimately off her station. It wouldn't do to have a righteous Justicar sticking around and waiting to tear the station down by its very pillars of corruption.

As they walk through the tenements Aria directed them to, closing in on the apartment of one Diana Moore and her – now deceased – daughter, he can't shake the feeling that their Asari companion has yet to adapt to a galaxy outside of the seclusion of Asari only space. While Black and White works well in theory, is a simplistic answer to rid one of any hesitance, it does not work in a world such as this, a hell that twists and forges even the best intentions into a twisted form of what it once was, turns a man from supposed entity of divine benevolence into a burning spirit of raging vengeance. He knows that this firm stance on her beliefs and duties will lead nowhere but to her stomping upon any and all those between her and her centuries old crusade and he'll be damned if those in her way includes Jane or himself.

_Perhaps Jane initial concerns about Samara could very well come to fruition,_  he thinks to himself as his wife accesses the call console to the apartment of the Moore residence. He gives the two women room, both because he knows the Justicar is less than pleased that the Commander decided to, against her request, take another squad mate and because there's always a reason to watch your backs even in the living quarter districts of Omega.

The door opens to just barely see a clearly grief stricken woman, her face pale around red, puffy eyes and deep, dark shadows under her eyes of smeared – what was it called – makeup. While Garrus is no expert at humans, he's certain the creases over her forehead, between her brows, and around her mouth aren't merely from age, but something much more evident in the way her voice wavers when she speaks. "Are you here about my daughter? My Nef died a week ago and no one seems to care."

"Yes, we'd like to ask you some questions about your daughter." Jane drops her voice from the usual firm 'command'. "May we come in?"

"Are you…" red and irritated eyes scan the three, "one of Aria's people?"

"No. You don't want help from her, it comes with lots of strings attached. If you help us, we can help get the bastard who did this to her."

She pauses, and there's a moment of wondering whether the woman will close the small gap of the door and lock them out completely, destroying their chance at a lead, or if she'll actually accept them in, before the door closes, a click, and it opening fully. "No one else in this hell-hole of a station even cares about my baby's death, about finding her killer!" She gasps a weak sob, the sound dry on her throat from too many hours and days without rest. "If you can do something, I'll try to help however I can."

Nodding, Jane motions the others to follow her in, in turn following the woman as she leads to a seating area where she collapses, head in her hands. He gets a chance to look around before motioning with his head towards the sleeping quarters in silent 'evidence will be there.'

With a slight quirk to her brow and tilt down of her chin, his mate turns back to the woman. "Ma'am. Do mind if, while I and my friend speak with you, my partner examines her room? Tries to see if there's anything that could point us in the right direction?"

With that, the woman begins to sob, nodding emphatically and babbling in such broken speech that his translator cannot properly interpret it. He doesn't know what to do with that, with the broken pain that he knows too well, and it's a selfish moment of gratitude that the task falls on him, especially when a Turian offering comfort is bound to cause even more problems than not.

A look to Jane as she moves to comfort the woman shows him that, despite the woman's pain, she has given them access. He rumbles with a nod in silent assurance that he will not disturb the suspended realm what's left of all this woman has of a the loss of her only companion on this dark station of death and desolation. If anything, he knows exactly what the preservation of the dead's life feels like, except for the fact that, instead of acknowledging the loss, he hid it away in attempts to equally hide away his pain.  _Still trying to decide which is better, to live with the constant reminder or push it away without truly letting go._

He finds a small, cluttered room full of the smell of something like clay or soil wet from a clean rain in the air. Looking around, he sees what must be uncompleted sculptures, the sources of the smell wrapped tightly in plastic to limit air exposure, and a scattering of sketches and datapads, things he'd never notice or recognize if not for his own time with Jane.  _Artistic, then._

Scanning over her bookshelves, he finds nothing but books of varying topics from the typical readings he'd see on Kasumi's shelves to more academic topics that also coincide with her apparent hobby, so he moves on. He'd be hard pressed to believe an Ardat-Yakshi, a creature that is supposedly as addicted to the hunt as Samara claims, would track victims through their choice of art theory and reference books or what he's been told is classic Earth literature.

Waiting to hack into the woman's laptop on her bed, at least to save that sort of invasion until last, he crouches down, his armor creaking loud, and finds a datapad. It's the sort of pads used for simple tasks like quick correspondence or remote access to a larger terminal, so it doesn't typically have tight encryptions like a personal computer would have. As it turns out, when he tries to access it, it boots up completely and shows to only have a single message of importance. Opening it starts a voice recording and attached collection of 'art' by some Elcor artist by the name of Forta.

He makes note to pass that on as he slides the pad back into place under the bed and scans the room, the only option not covered the woman's laptop. Opening up his tool to begin hacking, Garrus opens and turns on the laptop. As it turns out, the young girl must not have been too concerned with prying eyes as he receives access in a matter of seconds, the screen coming to life with –  _surprise, surprise_  – a depiction of one of the same pieces of art he just saw on the datapad.  _So check on this Forta being of importance._

Scanning through the information – extranet searches, files of 'Our Trip to Earth' photos, admissions into art galleries, what looks like school assignments, and more – he stops at a program marked 'Diary' and opens it.  _Certainly it can't be **this** easy…_

It, in fact, turns out to be that easy when he opens the entries closest to the date that Samara joined the team – and this Ardat-Yakshi most likely found her way to Omega – and finds exactly what he's looking for, an entry speaking of an Asari woman picking this supposedly reserved young woman out of an entire crowd in the VIP section of Afterlife.  _She finds someone who's alone, out of place, and moves in, captivating them like a drug. She's a predator._

He passes over a few entries that don't speak of anything but school work and trivial matters in a teenage girl's life that he'll never understand before finding the next that mentions this mysterious Asari, finally getting her name and confirming their suspicions. After that, by only a few days, it is clear that Morinth had moved in on her target, finally wrapping around the girl after seducing her, making her addicted, and promising a life she'd never truly get. It is the last entry in which the young Nef believed she could run away with the woman she was so deeply infatuated with.

Just as he's closing the terminal back to the way he found it, he hears footsteps just at the threshold of the room and turns to see the Justicar and his mate. "What did you find?" The red head asks with a scan of her green eyes around the room.

"Aria wasn't wrong," he answers as he motions to the door in silent 'can we go outside?' It takes them a few moments of once more promising to the woman's mother that they will see to avenging her daughter before they are outside of the apartment and a good enough distance to limit eavesdropping.

"Spill it. What did you find?"

Rumbling, he turns to Samara. "It was Morinth. She said her by name." Back to Jane, knowing that setting a trap is the best way they can capture this woman, even if he hates the fact that it won't be a simple task of letting the Justicar waltz into the club in hopes that her daughter won't run and instead one that will involve letting their guards down in the one place they shouldn't. "She's hunting inside of the VIP section of Afterlife, targeting outliers. She's getting a thrill out of teasing and leading her victims on."

"I am impressed." Heads turn to the Justicar and her calm eyes stare back into his. "While not complete in your observation, it is clear that she has not changed her ways in all the time I have been trying to apprehend her. For an outsider to recognize her hunting methods is unique."

"Not really," he corrects with a flick of his good mandible. "She's a predator. Just because her means of hunting is different doesn't mean it doesn't boil down to the same thing, pick a target separate from the herd, get close enough that it doesn't expect an attack, and go in for the kill."

The woman doesn't respond to that and it's Jane who nods with a furrow to her brows. "So she kills with sex. I just won't fuck her and we won't have a problem."

"You may not have the same intentions once you meet her. Even the strongest wills have found themselves bending to her." It only takes a moment before she begins on what he knew was inevitable. "We cannot deal with this in your usual manner, Shepard. She has had enough time on this station to learn its ways, plan at least a hundred escape routes. Storming her den would be a mistake. I cannot risk her going to ground, disappearing. I have never been closer than I am now."

Sighing, his mate rubs her forehead in exasperation. "So I guess that means I got to go get my fuck-me boots on, make a damn appealing piece of meat out of myself." Despite the obvious confusion at the words, the point gets across as the Asari nods. "Damn," she curses under her breath before looking to him. "I'm trusting your gun arm is nice and loose?"

He nods with a growl as Samara interrupts. "I'm afraid that's not possible. If Morinth suspects anything, we will lose her. You must go unarmed and alone. I will keep watch from the shadows"

"Not going to happen," he snaps with a low snarl. "While you play shadow stalker,  _assuming_  that she'll just walk out the front door where you're waiting, they could actually be taking a different exit. I can even give you ten good ways to get out of that bar that don't include the front."

"I will not let you interfere. This is far too delicate a situation for the brutal force of one such as yourself."

"And your damn Code is too blind for Omega. You have no idea how reality works outside your precious Asari space, how ideal this station is for someone like your daughter." Without fear, he stands before the Justicar with a growl, the height difference between them now blaringly obvious. "You will  _not_ send her in alone."

Crossing her arms behind her back, she retains her sense of calm even as she threatens. "You stand in the way of fulfilling my Code. Even my duty to Shepard cannot override what my Code demands should you stand in my way."

Smirking, he purrs darkly as he ignores the silent glare of 'what the fuck are you doing?!' from his wife. "Then kill me, but know that you'll lose your target. A Justicar killing a man is a pretty damn convincing argument for someone like Morinth to take flight from the station, don't you agree?"

In a move worthy of his praise, his wife doesn't act, doesn't interfere, though he hears her gloves creaking as she balls her hands into fists. He knows he'll most likely hear for this later, but right now, he can't seem to care. It'll be the death of him if he just stands by while someone blatantly expects his mate to walk into a situation with so many unappealing variables.

Closing her eyes with a long, steady breath, Samara takes a moment before directing her gaze upon him again, her mask hiding her expected seething ire. "It is only because I cannot risk losing Morinth that I will acquiesce and it is only by my Oath to Shepard that I will not act upon you. I can't, however, speak of my actions should anything go awry or when I am released from her command."

_Looking forward to it_ , Archangel wants to say, growls deep in his head with a fire in his veins, but he bites his tongue, knowing that the more strife that exists, the harder it is not for him, but for his wife's order. Instead, he nods and looks to the redhead, hearing her sigh with a stern frown as she shakes her head.

"Fucking pricks, the both of you," she says as she brushes past them, heading down the tenement complex and leaving them to follow. "So we got a location and a 'plan'. I say we regroup at the Normandy, get me out of this damn armor so I can look  _appetizing,_  and go over what we know. If we're going into this practically blind, I want to know what this bitch is getting off on."

As it turns out, when they finally get down to the last of their preparations, she in a low hanging blouse and tight fitting pants - because  _'fuck it, I am **not**  going out in a fucking dress should I die by a fucking sex monster'_ - and he in his armor –  _because I'll be damned if I take off my armor for an Ardat-Yakshi, of all things, when I don't even wear civvies on the ship_  – Samara seems much more accepting of his presence on this. Whether it's just because she thinks he won't be able to catch her daughter's eye or she believes that he actually knows what he's doing, he doesn't know nor care.

Jane leads the way, heading into the VIP section with the passcode as he waits, glancing at wares at a shop within eye shot of the doors. He doesn't know where the Justicar has taken to hiding, hopefully within sights of the VIP entrance as well, but he doesn't dwell on it as his visor chimes with the ten minute timer and he heads to the bouncer, giving the passcode of Jaruut to gain access.

The club, true to Afterlife fashion, is loud and stifling, filled with bodies writhing and jerking in most likely drugged fueled bliss, ignorant to the world. He glances around the club to see, not surprisingly, Jane at the bar laughing with a Krogan with fists bloodied with Turian blue and a large talon clawing over his eye just starting to heal up. Garrus isn't sure what that was about, but he doesn't dwell as he sees her face turn stern at another Krogan that replaces the first at the bar.

Making his way to find a place on the where he can get a full sight of the room, he takes a drink from a table, not caring what it is so long as it gives the impression. He sidles into a booth in the shadows, eyes finding his mate now making a clearly rude hand gesture to that very same Krogan that caused her scowl from before, her lips moving with a jerk of her head. If he knows her, she's in the middle of using some very colorful language on the man, usually with an insult towards his intelligence, clan, or people depending on her mood and gauge of the situation.

Jane moves among the club, merging in and out of the crowd without actually becoming one of the masses, and he rumbles at the thought that, even when she's trying to mostly blend in, she is one of a kind. No change in clothes and environment can ever truly take that which makes her a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, the one who can, despite her denial against it, can talk her way through anything without so much as a pause. Trouble may find her, but he has to wonder, sitting here in the dark as he observes her, if maybe that's just because a force like his mate just has the gravity to pull everything into her orbit.

His musings are interrupted with a woman slides close to his position, leaning against the table without directly facing him. Lifting a brow, he doesn't move, doesn't give the impression that he knows she's moved into his space, and waits to see if perhaps he's seeing things in nothing, in the fact that perhaps he hasn't even been seen in the dark – his visor  _is_ off, after all, and he's not wearing that damnable beacon of an armor Jane insists he wear because of its double plated build.

"I've been watching you," she speaks as she turns her head to glance directly at him. "You're the most interesting person in this place." A smile crosses her lips, something hidden in the curve of her lips that has Garrus' plates itch in anticipation. "Name's Morinth. You mind if I sit?"

_Dammit, of all the people…_  he inwardly curses as he glances towards the dance floor where Jane is, knowing that the Asari cannot catch his eyes, his quick check on his mate that he knows has already pinned his location down. With a certainty that he knows she will have or has already caught Morinth's zero in on him, he rumbles in 'agreement' and motions a hand to the seat on his side.

Sliding into the seat, leaning to expose her form, Morinth looks what little she can see of him over. "Some nights I come here and there's no on interesting to talk to. Some nights, there's only one. Tonight, it's you. Why is that?" He looks to her, unable to speak when she smirks and answers for him. "Could it be that I'm speaking to a dead man?"

"I assure you, I'm very much alive."

"It seems so. Even three mercs and a gunship couldn't kill you." His good mandible clamps down, fighting the urge to deny, knowing even if it's a damn good guess, not playing along will most likely run her off. "Or are those all just stories?"

_Baiting_. Growling he leans forward to show her the side of his face, figuring he might as well play the game.  _Better me than Jane._ "Does this look like just a story?"

"No," she answers with a wider, more lecherous grin. "Now I see what brought me here."

"And that is?" he purrs, flicking a mandible.

"You know the darkness of this place, you live it. You, of all people, know the power of being in control, using any means necessary. We are alike, you and I. We don't fear the power that comes in being better predators than others, by feeding our primal nature of ferocity."

"Is that what you did? Hunt me down?" He pushes the glass away so there is nothing between them as he growls low and deep, reverberating deep in his stomach. "I am no prey, to anyone. All are  _my_ game, this station my hunting grounds."

Her lips curl up at that, eyes turning hungry. "Do you want to get out of her? My apartment is nearby, and I want you alone."

_Now or never._ He purrs and nods once, prompting her to stand, swaying her hips as she leads him out. True to her word, her apartment is within walking distance and he gets the 'pleasure' of listening to her go on and on about her interests, busying himself with agreeing and sharing her desires to 'feed their more primitive desires'. Thankfully, she doesn't try to paw at him like some Varren in heat, most likely pointing to her age being beyond those young stages where Asari are freely experimental with sexual activities that their actual society considers taboo and unsanitary.

When they enter her apartment, he delays as long as he can with trivial matters before she takes his hand and, urgently, coaxes him to the couch beside her. She throws her arm over the back as she leans to face him, that hungry grin on her face. Her hand comes up to brush knuckles over his bandage and he struggles not to snatch her hand away, not wanting anyone to touch him but  _her_.

As it is, he forces his vocals down and continues to pretend as he looks to her as she speaks. "It's almost fate that we have found each other." Morinth slides closer, a leg looping over his spur as she leans against his side. "Predators without comparison. Don't you agree?"

"You compare us, but I have yet to see anything  _predatory_  from you," he growls, not bothering to hide the distain, and it only makes her close her eyes, pausing before opening them with a hungry glint to them.

"Oh, you will," she promises with a dark purr to her voice as she closes her eyes before reopening them, pitch black.

The effect is immediate, the sensation of being pulled from everything, isolated in nothing but her and himself. He feels the sensation of prodding, fingers sliding over and under his fringe, continuing deeper under the plates against his skull. Whispers echo in his ears as he snarls, the sound never leaving his throat, and he feels the sensation of fingers ghosting under his armor, squeezing and massaging his hide even where plates should lie.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you want me." Lips at his neck, sucking as a flat tongue licks his pulse. "Tell me you'd kill for me." Lips wrap around him, not caring that he can't erect with closed plates and tightly secured codpiece, and he growls. As if he could move, he feels the heat under his palms, the strength of a skull, as he holds the form around his cock in place, but something is off, something that he feels that doesn't match the voice in his ear. "Anything I want."

The sensation of  _hair_ – red, fiery strands – tangling and carding through his talons as he holds his wife to his groin forces the illusion to shatter, breaking in thousands of pieces. His hot under his plates, breathing deep and thrumming in arousal, but he can think, can turn to the woman with soulless pits for eyes and snarl as he says, "You're going to have to try harder than that, Asari scortum."

She scowls at the Turian insult as he shoves her off him, legs still weak from the forced meld that he can't stand just yet. Morinth's eyes snap back as she glows blue to overpower and disable him, straddling him with a look of rage burning in her eyes. "Just who the fuck are you? How dare you defy me," she practically growls as she grabs his head, fingers digging painfully into his injured side, making him growl threatening, hands aching and trembling in attempt and need to ball into a fist and  _fight_. He's powerless and he hates it, but he doesn't have long to seethe because her eyes turn black again as she screams, "If I won't have you, I'll tear you apart!"

The pain in immense, beyond words, and so strong he can't do anything but groan, vocals keening as those same prodding hands dig into him, clawing and ripping. In some sick, demented way, the ache within his groin is even stronger, but the urge to find his mate, sink as far into her as he can and attempt to defy biology is having an intense, odd sort of control over his sanity, helping him hold on, focus on keeping his eyes open.

He isn't sure how long he suffers, how long the Asari bitch tries ripping his head open from the inside before he hears the sweetest thing in his existence, in the form of his wife's rage filled war cry of, "Get away from him, you bitch!" before a flash of blue smashes into the form on his lap, breaking the connection with a snap.

Panting, head feeling like he took another rocket – and had the horrible luck to somehow stay awake – he sways on the couch, weak and spinning. He hears the sounds of what must be a fight and he knows he should do something, act or move out of the way, but his body will not move and he can swear he feels the steady pulsing of blood escaping from somewhere it isn't supposed to.

He only saving grace are soft hands cupping his face, the slight chill comforting because he only knows one person who can always have cold extremities the more she uses them, as contradictory as that is. With heavy eyes, he looks up and only sees her silhouetted in a halo of red, the light shining through that same hair that pulled him from Morinth's grasp. His last thought before everything goes black is – stupid considering his condition – of how he could get her to recreate that very fantasy he was just experiencing, the feeling of her hair tangled in his talons as her soft lips are wrapped around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Note from the Author: First of all, let me apologize for the drastic change in my writing schedule. As I have stated, I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and, as with many conditions that involve the delicate systems of the brain, it is a long, tedious process trying to find a medication that can alleviate my symptoms and treat me completely. All I can say is thank you for those who have expressed concern and those still reading. I am still around and have not given up.


	48. Chapter 48

-Jane-

A sense of hopeless drowns Jane as she helps her husband up to their cabin, half conscious and groaning in pain. It hurts nearly as bad as when she carried him bleeding and falling apart if not for her hands desperately trying to hold his shattered face together out of the shit of Omega. The only thing soothing the pain is the fact that Samara assured her he wouldn't have any lasting effects besides perhaps a headache and some more  _curious_ reactions to that damn sexual vampire - and she  _has_ to find it in herself to believe the Justicar would have the experience to know.

She doesn't think she could handle the loss of him even  _half_ as gracefully as he did. She doesn't care what may come of it -  _fuck the galaxy, for any shit I give_ – but she knows she'd never have the fight once he's gone, never be able to see a galaxy worth saving if he is no longer in it.  _As Mordin said, it's easy to depersonalize the galaxy, but if she can think of someone for this fight, there's a reason to wade through the shit against all odds._

It's the drying blood around his bandage that snaps her out of her worried staring at his heavy and thrumming chest and she slowly heads to the bathroom for the sparse supplies and something to clean him with.

She returns with a pack of medigel and attaches it to the port on the high tech bandage, watching as the healing gel slides through the small channels, dispersing over the wounds. Why it took so long to invent a bandage that was able to breathe and disperse meds without the painful task of removing it every single time, she'll never know, but she's happy to not have to see that reminder of that day until  _after_ it no longer causing him pain.  _Plus, if I'm to believe Chakwas' warnings about his addiction exacerbating his condition, it's better we don't risk that mandible falling off with each changing._

The medigel pack empty, the soothing gel emptied into her mate's bandage to stay fluid from the lack of air to react and harden under in order to be giving the time to soak into the burns, she removes it and sets it on the bedside table to dispose of later. She then takes the wet washcloth she brought and gently wipes at the edges of his bandage, trying to clean what little managed to seep under the edges.  _If I could bring Morinth back, I'd kill her again for what she did and damn the consequences with Samara. Not like she can get pissed if I get seconds on killing her bitch daughter, right?_

Suddenly, with an audible growl, a three fingered hand snaps around her wrist. Knowing that Archangel wakes before Garrus, she doesn't struggle and, instead, just speaks, trying to talk him through whatever demons may have followed him into this world from his frantic sleep. She has had enough nightmares of her own to know the frantic panic that comes.

"It's okay," she soothes softly. "You're safe. I won't hurt you."

The blue eyes, which she now realizes were completely aware the entire time, staring into hers blink and furrow slightly in confusion. "I know, Jane," he says as if that should be obvious to them both.

"Uh huh," she responds with a lifted brow. "Then what's with this?" She tugs lightly on his still firm grip wrapped around her entire wrist. "You can let me go now."

Her chuckle is cut off when he pulls her arm, making her practically collapse on his chest, and his growl deepens, making her realize it wasn't a defensive or pained sound he was making all this time. "What if I don't want to?" His hot tongue slides out across her neck, curling around her ear, his deep thrumming sending shiver down her spine and directly between her legs.  _Curious reactions, indeed._

Trying to move from his grip, even to get into a more comfortable position than half sprawled over him with her legs awkwardly bent on the floor, is near impossible and only results in his low growl of reprimand before he releases her to instantly wrap hands around her waist, hauling her into the bed. He moves over her before her back even hits the sheets, face buried in her neck as he shamelessly grinds against her through clothes and sheets.

"Jesus, Garrus," she sighs as she tilts her head for him, trying to pull the tangled sheets away. That only results in him nipping her neck in protest and putting more weight on her, turning the simple task into an uphill battle with a heavy Turian. "You're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

Latching his teeth around her throat, he yanks the sheets away, the only thing keeping from ripping them the fact that his hands are still gloved and his body suit still on. The binds don't seem to bother him, though, as he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back, making her hiss and arch into the pain.

She clenches her eyes shut, pressing her thighs together to fight the aching wetness forming from his force and insistent grinding against her thighs, and hears him snarl in appreciation, tongue flicking out before his mouth latches onto her clothed breast. She moans as she feels his mouth soaking through her undershirt, her hips bucking when she feels the thin muscle of his tongue rub her painfully hard nipple through the fabric.

"G... Garrus, clothes…" She's panting and writhing as best she can in his unyielding grip, feeling his free hand run roughly down her body and rub forcefully at her seam through her pants, grinding the seam directly against her. "Fuck, Garrus…"

"You smell good, Jane," he growls, voice deeply lined with vocals as he releases her hair use his teeth to yank off his gloves and use his talons to just cut through her clothes.

She's not ashamed to admit, though only in this situation, that she gasps and flushes from being completely exposed to the predator above her while he remains painfully inside a full set of underarmor. Reaching for his face, her hands are swatted away as he kisses her forcefully, tongue forcing in past flat teeth and nearly choking her as he grinds against her, moaning and growling as the material soaks from both of their fluids.

Seeing as how she won't get to touch him, she starts to pull open his clothes, his hands gripping her hips sinking talons when she grips onto his waist and squeezes. It's a sharp sting that has sure to drawn blood, but she's used to the occasional scratch or scrape from mating with a Turian – though, right now, with how he's so intent and focused, rutting seems much more accurate.

It's when his clothes get to his hips that he finally breaks away with a hissing snarl, leaving her body cold as he stands and yanks the thick fabric from his sleek body, erection heavy with blood. Jane moans at the sight of him stalking towards her, gasping when he grabs her hands and pins them above her head in a tight grip she'll have zero way of getting out of, and cries out when he shoves into her without and preamble.

She tries to loop her leg around his waist, any attempt at regaining control, but he merely growls feral and grips her ass, lifting her at an angle she has no control in, lifting on his knees. This way has him hitting deep as he thrusts, each plunge sending sparks up her spine and ripping the breath from her lungs. If she could, she'd scream with each smack of plates to her ass, but right now she's struggling just to gasp in desperate breaths.

"F… fu…" is all she can get out as her eyes clamp shut, tears of ecstasy slipping down her temples as she arches, back bowing from coil tightening, her body growing taut and ready to snap. Her cries and scream turn into sobs, the feeling just too much and she doesn't want it to stop, can't let it stop, the feeling of her husband's body plunging and surging like the waves of a mighty ocean crashing against her shores, eroding her by his sheer unrelenting force.

When her eyes open, face twisted near painful pleasure because she balances right on the edge, she eyes his beautiful blue eyes, dark and full of the hottest desire of any sun. They lock gazes as she gasps and cries a high sob, her hands fisting in his hold as the string snaps, his waves engulfing her, drowning her. Her eyes can't stay open, and it's okay because his head drops to her neck, his voice crying out a desperate, growling and deeply thrumming moan as his hips plunge him deep one last time, his warmth spreading through her tired veins and into her lungs, letting her breath the sweetest of air scented with their combined completion.

"Hol…y… shit." She huffs breathlessly as she cups his head, gently rubbing under his fringe, hearing him rumble a chuckle as he pulls out. "Wait a minute," she whines with a frown up at him, not sure why he wouldn't at least bathe in the afterglow with her,  _in_ her.

"Have I told you how good you smell?" Purring, he pulls on her trapped wrists, forcing the confused woman to roll on her belly.

"I… yeah, you may have said," she answers with a concerned frown she attempts to throw over her awkwardly stretched shoulders. Almost immediately, his warm thighs are straddling hers, his hands separating hers and linking fingers as he lays over her, using his forearms to carry his weight. She blinks in surprise to feel him still hard and throbbing against her rear, but she guesses it's one of those side effects of whatever the fuck Morinth did to him. Just as well, since she definitely doesn't mind working it off with him.  _Not like we have an immediate mission come morning or until EDI completes analyzing that heavily encrypted Collector/Reaper data._

"I want to defy biology with you, give you children of our own." His voice is deep as he's starting to shift, cock dipping lower in seek of her cunt which betrays her need when her stomach clenches in anticipation of feeling him again so soon after an orgasm.

"Garrus," she whispers with a frown, hating only in these moments that they are not of the same species. "I –  _we_ – can't. It's impossible. I'm… I'm sorry."

His voice is so soft when he purrs, nudging her cheek to turn her head so he can speak directly against her lips. "It doesn't hurt to try, to hope against all odds and impossibilities." He slides home, pulling a soft gasp from her. "Never apologize to me, not from the one I love."

With words that leave her speechless, gasping against his lips and pleading with her desperate kisses, he spends the rest of the night making love to her, their bodies moving as one in a battle they see no way of ever winning. Yet, despite it all, it's his soothing presence that helps to salve the wounds, make fighting the impossible somehow seem possible and within their grasp.

* * *

 

Cold asphalt and even colder fog greet her when she opens her eyes, pushes herself to her feet with limbs that feel drained, sluggish.  _I know this place…_

Yet, instead of the still silence she thinks she has heard – or not heard, as the case is – she hears a soft sound, a wailing in the distance. Whether the product of animal, intelligent being, or inanimate object, she only can know by following the sound, it her only guide through the fog and faceless buildings surrounding a road that seems to have no end.

In contrast to the heavy blanket of fog that clings to her feet and keeps her from seeing even a meter before her, she starts to see a tall, shadowy shape, its rise disappearing once again into the heaviest of the fog at least two three stories up. Looking up through the rolling and misty clouds, at the building that seems to house the wailing, which she now thinks may be crying, something strikes her as familiar.

Even with windows boarded or barred, sparsely free views blacked out from the heavy shadows inside, and disproportionate height, she thinks this place has some sort of significance to her. The brick, weathered and dirtied by time, and crumbling concrete steps, caged in by now unrecognizable statues, speak of a place she once knew.

_Home_ , but that's not quite true. While a place she certainly resided in for a short time, it never was a home for her, a place to feel safe and welcome. No, this wasn't a home for her.

"Mother's Home," she whispers as she looks up at the building, trying to remember what room would be her mother's in this strange world, the once black windows now filled with barely visible faces staring down at her, their mouths agape and eyes wide in a silent scream. Of agony or fear, she'll never know.

She approaches the building, the sobbing and wailing, and finds where doors would be nothing but a doorway into the dark interior of the apartment building. Stepping over the cracked and warped doors that just fell from their rusted hinges, she ignores the mailboxes in the wall, most open with long forgotten packages and mail turned brittle and now only homes for spiders that she's never even seen.

The fog seems to follow her –  _lead her_ – as if even the buildings of this strange existence are not free of the plague of its cold embrace as it never settles, constantly rolling in undulating waves over the ground and even over the stairs as she climbs in search of that crying. Despite the fear she should have of the beings she knows lie in this building, those staring down at her with what now seems as accusing faces, she has a feeling that it she wouldn't have a choice anyways, a gravity she's just given up fighting as it pulls her.

When the creaking wood and metal stairs come to a point where she can no longer go, the way blocked by worn and dusty couches piled haphazardly on top of the other, their upholstery ripped open and yellowed stuffing flung all over the floor. Behind the couches is a solid wall of cement, oddly situated in the middle of a step and where there would certainly be a continuation.

Her only option is to stop at the landing directly below the blockage which, thankfully, seems to at least be the floor of the crying, even if, when she previously passed it, it hadn't originally sounded that way. The door opens with a bit of a push, the hinges rusty and stiff from so long without use, and she steps into a long hallway that, again, seems to stretch on further than realistically possible and further than the building was wide when she saw it from outside. In fact, the hall is so long, that the fog manages to conceal rooms a dozen meters before her.

Walking as if with lead wrapped around her bare feet, she starts to walk down the hall of grimy, ripped up carpet, too stained by time and whatever manner of disease this place has to be able to tell whatever color it may have been. Doors on her left and right are either missing their handles, boarded up, or completely cemented over. Though she knows there are numbers marking the doors of rooms and floors, she can't seem to comprehend them, as if they are another language of images that fall from her memory the moment she looks away.

Stumbling on a bunch in the old carpet and catching herself with a hand on the peeling and brittle wallpaper of the hall, feeling it flake and fall apart under her palm, she hears the softest hint of music from the room beside her. She frowns at the sound being familiar, if not sadder than she remembers, but it's much too soft for her to place the slightly off key tones of a somber piano.

Her slender and trembling fingers ghost over the number she can't read on an out of place door, it's surface smooth and paint not cracked and chipping, and the music suddenly stops with a cut off noise. She gasps and jerks her hand back with the paint dries, cracking and shriveling into curls before falling off, the wood beneath creaking as it cracks and darkens.

_Did I do that? Did I ruin the one good thing in this place with my touch?_ She looks down at her hand, the tips of her fingers red and slightly sore like they'd be if she touched a spent heatsink without thinking. Thoughts broken by a loud scream of sorrow from whoever is crying, she leaves her self-scrutiny and continues further down the hall, her sleeping clothes not meant for the chill that comes with the gripping fog as it wraps its fingers around her ankles.

As the wails and keening seem to come to a crescendo, the fog parts to a hunched form. She cannot tell much from the back to her, shoulders hunched as the abnormally tall figure –  _woman?_ – sobs hysterically into her hands, a tattered and dirty gown cloaking their entire form. They don't even seem to notice Jane's less than stealthy approach as she comes closer, air growing heavier with each step as if the figure's own torment weighs down on any and all that draw near.

"Hey, I can help. Who are-" The sound of a door slamming behind her snaps her head back, spinning to see who's there, but the damnable fog has closed in again, only giving her a vague sight directly in front of her face.

Turning back to help at least the one she can see, there are no cries but the one that escapes her own lips as she falls back. It follows her to the ground, pinning her as its face engulfs her vision.

Red eyes from a broken face of a Spectre glow as it twitches uncontrollably. It pins her with arms as strong as grips as its long, spidery legs lower it closer.

" _Shepard_ ," it speaks with voices of machine and Turian. " _You cannot escape us._

_"_ _We are eternal._ "

She tries to fight, but it is useless. All that come from her are cries from the painful and numbing cold from its touch. Through it all, she can feel the light and heat from its chest grow close, burning her heart through her clothes.

_"_ _The time of our return is coming._

_"_ _You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we demand it."_

She screams in pain and defiance, whether in her head or aloud she cannot tell from ringing ears, surely bleeding. Thrashing as its face comes even closer, she can't take her eyes away from the missing mandible, gone from a bullet, and hanging tongue that flaps and curls against the fog.

_"_ _Evolution cannot be stopped."_

She is frozen, eyes wide and unmoving as it engulfs her, bringing her screaming to the same fate as a man who thought he could save the galaxy with submission.

_"_ _Embrace perfection."_

* * *

 

Snapping awake with a gasped cry, she desperately clings to the warm arm that pulls her close and into the curled embrace that brings comfort, not gripping, blinding fear. She's panting and whimpering with trembling limbs too weak to possibly be the woman who has stared down death, overcome it, and the only thing that is cementing her in these weak moments is the warm breath on the back of her neck, the rumbling purr at her ear that sounds an awful lot like a song.

"I…I dreamed… about that place again." His knowing hum and tightening arms around her is all she needs to know he understands, has seen that foggy hell in her eyes many early mornings. "It…" she swallows to try and dry her panic dried throat, "It was my mother's apartment building this time. That Saren thing was there."

That receives a light growl as he pulls her even closer, laying his plated cheek against her neck, surely hearing her racing pulse. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid I'm going insane, Garrus." Her hand seeks out his, he turning to accept it without hesitation before their fingers link together. "What if I'm just like Saren? What if I'm just as full of Reaper shit as he was and I just don't know it? That Cerberus did it." Without letting him answer, she continues, frantic and shaking in panic. "I mean, I was  _dead_ , not asleep and in a coma. Meat-and-fucking-tubes! Jacob said it himself… how could I be as I am now and it not be because of the most advanced technology to ever exist? There's no way Cerberus has the tech and no one else ever heard of it. No. Fucking. Way. They did something to me, made me into some Frankenstein's Monster. I walking husk with slightly prettier looks." Shifting a bit, she gives him a worried, fearful look. "What if I could turn any minute? Or if I already  _have_?"

"You think someone wouldn't have noticed you aren't acting normally? That  _I_ wouldn't?"

"Ash and Kaidan think I'm not."

Garrus growls at that, releasing her hand to grab her shoulder, laying her on her back as he moves to stare down into her eyes with a scowl. "Don't you  _dare_  believe those –translator glitch – over the crew that's actually loyal to you, your own  _bondmate_  being one of them." His expression softens as his hand lifts to cup her cheek, thumb stroking over the broken skin where cybernetics still glow. "I don't know what tech they used to bring you back and I don't care." Leaning back a bit, he lifts a hand to his face, mandible flicking a bit with a hiss of pain as he slowly, painfully, starts to pull away the bandage.

"Garrus," she warns with a frown, "I don't think-"

"If it falls off, so be it," he grits out with a growl as the bandage comes off, revealing what's left of his face and what Chakwas  _really_ had to do to save his life.

Jane's eyes widen and mouth falls open in shock, the entire right side of his face aglow in cybernetics weaving over and into the plates and hide. Even though she knows it hurts, that the air must be like salt covered blades scraping across the wound, he doesn't complain, doesn't cringe or wince as he keeps his head turned for her, forcing her to see the extent of the damage. How he really lived, she truly doesn't know or believe if not for his comforting warmth at her fingertips, hovering over her body.

The webbing of glowing, spindling cybernetics look more like gruesome veining expanding from his shoulder, up his neck, over his mandible and cheek to give a distinct shine to his eye that's most likely supplemented since the blast, and back towards his ear to wrap a bit behind the back of his neck. Now she knows why he doesn't flinch from her own twisted seams in her skin where the tech shows or the lights in her eyes when she's in a dark room, because he has them too, wears his own reconstruction over his face. Truly, the only thing that differs between them is the color, hers red and his blue like the blood that runs through their veins.

"If you are Cerberus' monster, then so am I. If you fear of turning into that  _thing_  that used to be Saren, then know I will be right there with you." Purring, he lowers his head to press his forehead to hers. "I meant it when I told you so long ago that we are in this together. Nothing will take me from you, not even the Reapers."

She chuckles weakly and finds his hand, linking their fingers together. "No Shepard without Vakarian."

"Well," he smirks with the good mandible. "You're not really a Shepard anymore."

"No Vakarian without Vakarian is just confusing," she snaps back with a matching smirk to which he shrugs. Lifting a hand to caress his uninjured side, too afraid to hurt him after opening himself up to his weaknesses so willing, she kisses his lips softly and slightly off center. "As much as I love a man with rugged scars, I think we should get you covered up before-"

The mostly dark room lights up from the corner where EDI's interface appears. "Shepard. I have completed analyzing the heavily encrypted data from the Collector ship. I was able to remain unaffected by any possible Reaper processes that may have existed within the data."

"Did we find anything useful?" She smiles at her husband's teasing, playful lick at her cheek in a returned kiss.

"I have found the location of the Collector home world as well as a possible solution to navigation the Omega-4 Relay. Shall I alert the crew to report to the Conference Room?"

"Do it, but give us an hour at least to head down to the MedBay. Alert the crew that they need to be up and aware for the debrief, they can sleep when they're dead."


	49. Chapter 49

-Garrus-

"Now that's what I'm fucking talking about!" A scream of triumph preceded by a bright blue torrent of energy knocking aside the Husks as they charge down the catwalks travelling deeper into the supposedly 'dead' Reaper. The fact that, even derelict, it can still fry and twist the minds of those within its hulls for any amount of time is, lightly put, concerning.

Yet, now's not the time to debate the true statistics of their chances of success when it all finally comes down, the Reapers stretching out over the galaxy as they crawl from Dark Space. Garrus has to concentrate on trying to whittle away the charging husks of twisted humans, their faces stretched into an eternal scream, in between flashes of biotics from the two rampaging biotic women.

He actually feels sorry for Grunt as the he tries not to shoot his Battlemaster or Jack. The Krogan isn't known for his patience and persistence, after all. Would explain when he just gives up and beats the Husks down in frustration with his weapon.

Up ahead, he sees his wife charging into a pack of the oncoming horde, knocking quite a few into the abyss of winding, thick bundles of cords and tech that apparently make up the Reaper's living hull. He lines up a shot directly over her shoulder to take one out as it comes up on her six, finger on the trigger and waiting for the right moment of her moving just a bit more out of the way before he adds that minute bit of pressure to turn that agonized expression on the creature's face to nothing but pulp.

Suddenly, as if his thoughts alone had the capability, the Husk's head is once there and gone in the next fraction of a second gone.  _Wait…that's not right._

"Jesus fuck, Garrus!" His wife jerks from the exploding carcass, shaking her head with a jerk before she Shockwaves a husk off the catwalk. "Warn a girl before you cake her hair in blood!"

"That wasn't me," he responds with a double check of his rifle to double check that, yes, that wasn't his fire. "Watch your six, I'm on my way."

"Oh, someone's gonna get it now!" Jack's loud voice cackles over the comm as she punches the last of her targets, not even bothering to grant the abomination the gentle death of a plummet over the railing.

Getting to Jane's position, taking cover behind a support for the Cerberus installed walkways, she gives him a quick jerk of her head to check the large chamber for their mysterious sniper. He highly doubts it's a survivor from the Cerberus team, the obvious proof that they've all gone completely insane from the Reaper's affects not making sense as to why they would be destroying the Reaper's own pawns.  _Unless what that Harbinger thing is right and they want her 'alive'._

Quickly shaking any thought of losing her to that kind of fate off, he does as she orders and quickly scans with his scope and visor, rumbling a trill of surprise as he catches sight. His eyes are wide when his back hits the cover, wondering if Indoctrination would really work that fast and if it'd really make him see  _that_  of all weird things. Honestly, that's more confusing than frightening.

"Well," she asks with a raised brow. "What'd you see, Vakarian?"

"Remember when I said 'just like old times' when we heard about the Geth ship?" He looks to her, blinking away his stunned surprise when she nods. "I may have been, maybe, completely wrong."

"You wrong?" she snorts with a smirk.

"That sniper? It's a Geth, as in alone." If her brows could go any higher, they'd disappear into her hair line, so he nods with an agreeing rumble. "Exactly."

"Why the fuck would a Geth be helping this bitch?" Jack slides into cover and motions Jane with a jerk of her fingers, the four debating whether to move ahead. "Haven't Geth been the sand up both your cunts for years?"

"Wonderful picture, Jack. Thank you," He deadpans as Jane snorts, nudging him to 'come one, it was pretty funny'.  _Not likely._

"Doesn't matter what it is, we can smash a piece of metal."

The Commander lifts a fist in 'quiet, all of you' as she glances around the cover. "Vakarian, check it's position." Doing as she says, he calls out an 'all clear'. Wherever the Geth has disappeared to, he doesn't know, but there are no signs of it, just the few human figures standing with hunched shoulders and emitting low groans of pain. "Keep an eye out for the flashlight fucker and let us know when we need to scatter or serpentine."

Leading out of cover, shotgun and biotics flaring in time with the younger biotic, he doesn't bother to correct that 'serpentining' isn't really an accurate way of limiting a sniper from taking a shot. He'll correct her very limited, and inaccurate, knowledge of the skills and proficiency of her  _own husband_  later, maybe with some smart remarks in turn from her.

Clearing out the mindless hordes is a quick process, only needing the efforts of dodging flailing arms and eliminating the monstrosity composed of merged together pieces of humans. It's really a blessing, he thinks, to just end its misery. At least the individuals don't have that eerie appearance of so many screaming faces, its skin pulsing and stretching as if the poor souls trapped within are trying to claw out.

Once the field is clear, he takes a quick scan of the higher rises, inaccessible from their position, for any sign of their synthetic observer. "All clear, Shepard. No signs of hostiles or Geth."

"Holy shit… Shepard, get your ass over here. I think you might want to see this fucked up shit."

Garrus is the last to arrive on their location, his position always at the back of the field, but the smell hits him before his eyes adjust to the bright lights, the acrid stench of rot and decay. He coughs a bit, the sounds turning into a choked growl as his eyes finally adjust, revealing the sight as if coming into focus.

Rising from the very core of twisted metal and still, dead air, of the Reaper's –  _let's face it_ – body are the long spires that created the very creatures inhabiting the interior of this ship. From the beginning, even before he joined Jane on her hunt for Saren, these things have been the very cause of the monsters haunting his wife's dreams, attacking her from the shadows of her nightmares.

'Dragon's Teeth', her people called them, but it doesn't matter the name, just their purpose. And that was to create abominations from any unlucky poor bastards to find them, through what's no doubt a horribly painful experience from the large spikes impaling a good number of the Cerberus research and science team.

"This… this is a… altar," Jane whispers, her face pulled tight in a baffled scowl.

"Fucking idiots-"

He rumbles and looks deeper into the abyss, his visor showing even more of the spikes lined in even large number closer to a high platform, a catwalk where they must have just walked to their deaths at the hands of the Reaper technology.  _Ritual sacrifice._

"Indoctrinated into turning themselves," he growls in anger for the very real fact that they still have no clue how to fight the Reaper's ability to twist the minds of anyone in their vicinity. "Just like Saren."

Without warning, his mate makes a pained expression, hunching over the railing before the drop and retching into the darkness. Eyes widening in shock, vocals piercing loud enough to make Grunt and Jack wince, he rushes to her.

"Jane," he pleads, warbling in gut wrenching worry. He's never seen her get physically sick before and, sure, the smell is bad to him, but it's certainly not the worst for her human nose – far from it. "Are you alright?"

She nods and wipes her mouth on her undersuit at the crook of her elbow. "Fuck. That was fucking weird-"

Jack scoffs. "Fucking understatement."

"-The smell didn't bother me until just hit me in the face like a Krogan." He helps her back up, rumbling in concern as he offers his canteen of water, not caring if she contaminates it with whatever was in her stomach. "Aw, what a sweet heart."

He snorts at her smirk, at least feeling less in a panic now that she's at least joking. Taking a drink, he watches her cheeks puff and collapse before she spits back over the barrier. "You know, if Gardner's cooking is that bad, I'm sure one of us could suffer to learn how to cook."

"Smart ass," she says with a bit of a rasp to her chuckle as she hands the canteen back. "Let's move before I do whatever  _that_ was again."

He makes sure to keep a more concentrated eye on her when they move deeper into the Reaper, finding themselves crossing a large, open chamber that looks like it once served as a loading and unloading dock for equipment, both scientific and to construct these very walkways they are using. At least, he figures, she noticed her moment of weakness and has chosen to give her rebelling stomach a chance to calm, sticking to her weapon and stationary attacks instead of charging across the field and beating anything into submission.

When the largest number of forces are eliminated, he finds the group waiting at a pressurized chamber doors, the two biotics taking a quick break to down come energy bars as Grunt fidgets impatiently. His wife smirks around a bar, chewing loudly. "Kilf counf's dowf, Vafarian," she says around her food, his translator and visor together barely piecing together her words.

"Eat your food,  _ma'am_ ," he responds with a chuckle, making her snort. "And my kill count is perfectly fine. Still above yours."

"Can't see how when you're too busy staring at my ass to shoot anything." She stands from her lean against one of the crates and tosses her wrapper over the edge. If he knows her – which, of course, he does – it's most likely out of spite for the Reaper they're currently getting awfully friendly with when considering its kind are like living ships.

"It is a fine ass," he rumbles with a smirk, surprised to see Jack nod with a cackle at Jane's expression to them both.

"I swear, I'd rather be in a ship of Krogan. They aren't a bunch of perverts." Hearing Grunt's slow, monotone 'heh, heh, heh' of a laugh, Garrus steps to the door, not even needing her order to start working at getting the lock open. "EDI says the schematics show the IFF and core are less than a click ahead. Let's get it, shut it down, and get the fuck out before we all learn what falling into a brown dwarf feels like."

With the low whir of the door sliding open, the games stop, the four getting back into positions as they enter the completely Cerberus made chamber, most likely a decontamination station before the entire crew went and jumped onto the Reaper's Teeth –  _much more accurate than Dragon's Teeth._

They find the IFF, in all actuality a very small piece of tech, in a closed in quarantine isolator, not that it was the source of the scientists' concerns. Jane approaches the clear container, narrowing her eyes at the small, smooth metal of the black piece of tech, very clearly Reaper if just in a smaller package.

She wastes no time and turning her gun in her hands and smashing the butt of her shotgun against the glass, shattering it. Reaching in, she picks up the IFF and tosses it lightly in her hand, weighing it in her palm. "Looks like this is it. Whole lot of hell putting it in a clean box did." Pocketing in in a compartment of her suit, she motions to 'keep moving' as she retakes her shotgun in hand.

When the opposite door – the door that  _should_  lead to the core – opens, they are stopped by a kinetic barrier, because when is it ever as easy as entering and just pressing a button? Jack curses loudly, Grunt, well, grunts, and Jane sighs loudly in the same tired exasperation he feels, which actually makes him chuckle a bit.

"Shepard," he alerts with a motion of his chin. "That's the Geth." He's sure of it, just now realizing from the clearer line of sight that the glowing around its chest is actually a hole.  _A hole covered by a patch of wielded armor like Jane's N-7. Not sure I want to know why that thing has that any more than why it's even here._

It seems to messing with the console for the core and, even if they can't really do anything from here, Jane shouts out when more of the mutated Cerberus crew seem to close in. "Hey, dipshit! At least drop the fucking shields before you get your ass kicked!"

Shocking as it is, the Geth  _listens_. One moment the shield is blocking their entrance and the next it's dropping to their feet, his wife hopping over it as it reaches her knees. He follows without hesitation, kicking a charging husk back off the platform as he sticks by her. He doesn't catch the Geth going down under a horde of the attacking onslaught of abominations, it emitting that familiar clicking noise as it hits hard on the console on the way down.

"This is a fight!"

"Stay focused, Jack! Don't let them surround you!" He barely side steps the shockwave, the husks climbing up behind him falling down the abyss. Giving his wife a nod in thanks, he repays the favor by shooting another at her back.

"Watch my back, Garrus," She goes to his position, no one really able to find cover with the constant onslaught from all sides. "I'm Caining this bastard."

"Right," he shouts sarcastically as he uses the butt of his rifle as a club to the closest Husk before punching another. "Because adding more radiation to the unshielded core is a smart idea."

She chuckles as she lifts the weapon with her finger on the priming trigger, the other two taking the hint and falling further back from the core. "You know me. Full of bright ideas." With that, she releases the trigger and grabs his armor as they spin their backs to the supernova of energy, the loud boom ringing in his ears and the strong, metallic taste mixed with ozone on his tongue, nearly gagging him as it dries his already naturally dry throat.

"Grunt! Grab that Geth while we cover you," she orders as she quickly swaps weapons, firing into the surrounding numbers. The Krogan nods and charges, cutting through the horde of Husks like they are nothing but a mild nuisance.

"You got to be kidding," he growls at her, never stopping from clearing the numbers of attacking creatures. "What? Need a new toaster?"

"More like coffee machine." She hits his armor in an urgent 'move out' as Grunt stomps past them, the Geth flung over his shoulder with Jack behind him. On the way out, he overloads the door controls, at least slowing their tail down as they start to a sprint through the thrashing corridors for that loading and unloading dock.

Laying down covering fire, he and Jane hold the line while Grunt tosses first their prize, then jumps, followed by Jack. He sees his mate's eyes smirk through the glass of her helmet as she glows blue. "Time to learn if Turians fly."

"I'm not going to start with how racist that is," he quickly responds as he takes down a last few husks before running as fast as he can, the sound of her unleashing a strong biotic wave, and jumps to the sound of her stomps right behind him. He drifts in that odd weightlessness that always exists in space, a feeling that, no matter how often he feels it, just doesn't feel quite right, as if his own body rebels at the lack of gravity.

He lands hard in the airlock access, the partial magnetism dragging his boots to the unforgiving metal. She lands just as hard behind him, rushing to slam a fist on the door close command, she yells into the comm. "Get the fuck out of here, Joker! This ugly bastard's going straight to hell and I don't want our asses singed, hear me?"

Even if Garrus doesn't like the man on a very personal level, he can agree that the pilot knows how to do his job, successfully steering at high speeds out of the wrecked and falling Reaper and far from any fallout of its destruction. It still doesn't change the past – the very  _devastating_ past – but at least he knows that, when the Normandy is in danger, the damn pilot will do his best, if only it was for the people  _inside_ and not just some weird sense of pride.

"Well," Jane sighs as she pulls off her helmet, a large grin of success against the odds on her face. "I'd say that was a damn good fucking mission. Definitely one for the grandkids, don't you all agree?"

"Screw you, Shepard." There's no true bite in the words, the two women remarkably hitting it off well despite their rough beginnings. Garrus is sure he knows why, that they both bonded over their unusually similar lives, their paths different but ultimately littered with many mirrors of the other.

It's because of that that he also seems to have grown a small report with her, each comfortable enough to send jabs at the other. If only he could get over the headaches from her tattoos every time she walks in a room without at least that weird jacket of hers, but not everything is perfect. "Sorry, Jack, but that's position's taken."

* * *

 

He finds her heading towards the MedBay and he has a pretty good reason why. Course, he  _is_ stationed outside the doors to the Bay itself for the sole purpose of intercepting her. He's even made sure no one's around to hear this, granting her at least the image that her crew is a united front for the ship.

"Jane," he says with a serious tone to his vocals, a deep, slightly annoyed, ticking. "Just where do you think you're going." He looks her over, seeing her just in her civvies, most likely only carrying a pistol. "A pistol isn't efficient in taking out a Geth. Unless you want to be in there all day, you should take something stronger. Hell, I'll offer my own rifle."

"I'm not destroying it. At least not at first."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because I have questions-"

"Oh no," he interrupts with a slight annoyance in his growl. "This isn't time for your, what was it, twenty questions? I'd figure you had enough Geth to last a lifetime seeing as how we spent damn near a  _year_  fighting them." Not moving, he crosses his arms over his armored chest. "Nostalgia is one thing, but do it with vids or music, not this. We have enough trouble as it is, don't add to it."

"Don't you think I thought about that?" She matches his stance. "That thing has N-7 armor on it. I want to know why."

"Convenience. That's it."

"Yeah?" She drops her hands to her hips and cocks it. "Then tell me, smart shit, why that armor's serial number matches  _my_ old armor. Yeah, that's right, I had EDI scan the bastard before we put it back there. Armor isn't a keycard, Garrus. I'm pretty damn sure I'd remember if I suddenly misplaced my armor, so that means that thing only had  _one_ place to get my armor without me knowing."

His expression falls at her words, at the realization of what she's not saying. No, she wouldn't just lose armor. It can't slide under the bed like her bras or underwear, it doesn't fall into the couch like her sketchpads or pencils, and it certainly isn't something she'd just leave lying around, even when she does it to everything else, her armor and weapons the only thing with any real order.

The only place and time the Geth could have obtained an armor with the serial code of her own set is Alchera, when she  _died_. Even thinking of it now makes his gizzard plummet, his chest clench painfully, and he can't help the shameful keen in his throat as he nods in understanding.

He can't stop her even if he wanted, but with this one chance to learn of her past? She will grasp at every piece of knowledge about the time she's lost, he knows that, and he doesn't blame her. To have had the universe move on around her while she, in essence, stood still is devastating even in the confusion and pain he sees on her face, hears from her on those many nights he can't sleep and instead holds her in the dark to keep her warm, safe.

"You… you're right. That can't be coincidence." Dropping his head in defeat - not at this argument, but at the past that still burns and claws at him for the two years he was without her - he doesn't notice how she's stepped forward, how she's lifted her hand to him, until her cool palm cups his untouched side. He presses into her caress with closed eyes, the pain starting to dissipate.

"Garrus, I have to know. Why it has my armor. Why it didn't shoot us. Why it was alone when every damn Geth we've ever fought needed to be in a group to not shoot itself in the fucking foot. Why it dropped the shield for us when it could very well have not and we'd all be dust in a brown dwarf." She sighs with a firm scowl, her brows furrowed in thought. "There's just too many things different from what we know about Geth. I'd rather feed my curiosity and just have to destroy it than Cerberus get their hands on it."

He looks at her at that, growling. "They want what?"

"To use it for weapons development."

"Then take a better weapon," he says as he takes his assault rifle off his back, taking her hand and forcing her to hold it. "Do it for your husband's sake. If it does anything akin to all the other Geth we've ever fought, don't hesitate to shoot it."

Smirking, she chuckles and nods. "Shoot first and ask questions never?"

"Now, Commander Shepard," he rumbles with a smirk back as he steps aside to let her past. "Your fighting style may not be the best strategy for life."

Shrugging as she heads in, she speaks over her shoulder. "Oh, I don't know. My way roped your ugly ass in and got me your teeth in my neck."


	50. Chapter 50

-Garrus-

When he wakes in the middle of the night to the pounding headache and twitching muscles, that craving to ease the itch that comes from going too long without feeding that ever present hunger within him, he doesn't expect a small hand to catch his wrist as he moves to stand. Despite his urging to go back to sleep, she practically orders him to accept her help as she pulls him back into her arms, granting him that warm soothing release that comes from a needle and hiss of a auto-injector filled with a very calming combination of chemicals.

Long past is his shame in her knowing about his addiction, about his need, for it has become just one more burden bared to the other. 'One pillar cannot carry the weight of the whole,' he was once taught in school when told it was better to be one part of the whole and, though he may be a bad Turian on so many other accounts, he has taken this to heart when concerning his relationship with his wife.

Besides, it seems like she has learned the stubborn insistence to insert herself in his personal struggles from him, whether as punishment for his meddling or not, he isn't certain. What he is certain of is that he doesn't at all mind her persistence when he was once reluctant to let her in or know of the avoidable situation he had gotten himself into while she was gone know that her soothing touch and comfortable presence helps ease the ache and self-loathing for not having complete control of his body.

"Garrus, you there?" Blinking, he snaps out of his own thoughts, looking down at the red head cradled against his chest as he sits against the headboard, either of them getting back to sleep an impossibility.

"What?"

She snorts and looks up at him, her face upside down in this position they're in. "I was just asking if you had any interesting emails, what with the way you're just staring, but I figure you were off in Wonderland."

Chuckling at her smile and weird human reference he only has a vague understanding of, he pushes some of her hair from her face. "I was lost in whatever Wonderland is, I guess," he says as he motions the pad in his hand, on the same screen for so long that it has dimmed in attempt to ease the reader's eyes. "This message is from the Helos doctors about the Collector tissue I sent them to help pay for mom's admittance into the program."

Garrus loves when her face brightens, can't help matching her enthusiasm even when the message isn't a completely good one. He will choose to keep that bit of disappointing news to himself, though. It is not worth it to dwell on the immutable truth of his mother's condition after so long and the very real possibility that she may not be helped by the newest test trials or pass the burden onto his mate when they have a very real, very dire, obligation to the galaxy as a whole.

"That's fucking great!" She shifts in his lap to cup his head and press her forehead to his, pulling a purr out of him as his unbandaged mandible presses into her palm. "Did Mordin's string-pulling work?" He nods with a grin and she nearly squeals, it turning into a squeak when she clamps it down – and that just makes it all the cuter - and he chuckles, taking her hands in his.

"I owe you, Jane. I'd have never gotten that Collector DNA off the ship and under Miranda and Cerberus' nose without your help."

"Fuck that," she retorts with a smile as she hugs him. "Even if I've never met her, I owe your mother for the man you are, for helping shape the man I love. No don't owe me for a damn thing, Garrus, I'd do it even if we weren't as we are… hell, maybe just to spite Cerberus."

He chuckles as he wraps his arms around her tiny body, purring as he buries his face in her hair. "Good to know I make such an impression on you." Hearing her mock scoff of insult, he knows when to feign a pained trill when her hand playfully swats the back of his head.

"You're such a shit head I swear your eyes should be brown… or whatever color Turian shit is. And no, don't tell me." She smiles in sheer happiness, hands seeming to not be able to stay in one spot as she touches him, peppering light kisses over his face. "We will see her when we finish with the Collectors, and we  _will_ defeat them now. It'd be rude not to keep that appointment now that I've made it, after all."

"I look forward to it, Jane," he purrs around chirps at her adorable, never-ending attentions. It hurts a bit that his mom may not even recognize or be able to enjoy their visit if they manage it, but it's just one more worry to put aside until the bigger task at hand is taken care of.

Gently taking her hands in his to slow their loving caresses, he nudges her head in silent request to look at him, smiling to wash away her confused frown. "Tell me about what you found." He motions her own datapad, releasing her hands so she can lay back in the safety of his arms around her and he at her back.

"Nothing as exciting as your news, I'm afraid. A lot of spam, a few greetings from old faces that are both surprised and not that I'm alive, and an interesting message from the new leader of the Blue Suns." He sees her smirk as he lays his cheek on the top of her head. "Turns out that he's in debt to us now and ever better? It's for  _two_ favors."

"How so?" he asks, not too sure why she continues to deal with the man who could very well stab them in the back whenever she calls on his 'assistance'.

"Well, besides the obvious helping him into power, supposedly we killed his second in command who  _also_ , according to him, was going to try to go around him and deal with Vido to muscle him out of control."

"So he's offering a favor for killing one of his subordinate mercenaries who was going to betray him in order to rise up in the chain of command, which shouldn't be all that shocking considering they're  _mercenaries_. Why is he offering repayment for killing a merc like we also do when they were just going to do a typical merc thing?"

Shrugging she pats his arm around her torso. "Calm, calm." He huffs at her effort, puffing some of her hair and making her chuckle. "Way I see it, having the leader of the Blue Suns in debt to us might come in handy one day-"

"Granted he doesn't stab you in the back," he interrupts with a rumble, really hoping she isn't daring enough to test his theory.

" _Granted_ ," she adds with a pointed look mostly overshadowed from her brows at this angle. "That are reasons and cause is greater than the risk. I don't see us needing his help unless we are in dire straits."

The Turian takes a moment to fill his lungs with a deep breath before releasing it, his obvious frustration at her tempting fate on so many levels at once, but decides not to push. Instead, he moves on with a stated, "Was there anything else of importance or interest?"

"Actually, yeah." Her attitude changes quickly, accepting his drop of the subject that they can't find an agreement on, and she opens up a message.

"Just tell me what it says."  _I can't be bothered to actually stop holding you to read some message most likely sending you on some errand that 'just has to be done by Commander Shepard and damn the consequences to the galaxy' like running around a mine replacing a malfunctioning mech's power cores, or some other pointless waste of their time._

Sighing with a playful pat to his arm in mock reprimand for being lazy, she summarizes. "Cerberus found information on the Shadow Broker. Liara can use this… and considering our history with Lady Luck, I might be able to find myself a fight with the fucking bastard that tried to sell me to the Collectors."

"And you think that EDI will really take that long to safely get through the IFF's programing? It's already been working through it since we helped Legion with the Geths' Heretic problem… as confusing as that all was." She shrugs and he flicks his mandible in her hair. "You're worried that the IFF may have some kind of Reaper failsafe?"

"Can you blame me?" she answers with a huff of frustration as her weight settles more on him. "I mean, look at what happened when we were on the Collector ship, EDI slipped in and we got our asses nearly handed to us because we rushed into unknown tech. And now that it's tech from the very same Reaper corpse that indoctrinated the Cerberus crew inside it?" She shakes his head, making more of her hair tangle in his mandible and face plates. "I can't run that risk. If it takes EDI some time to properly weed through the programming to find a way to integrate it into the systems  _and_ keep from unleashing some evil Reaper program onto the Normandy, then I'll gladly work some other missions while we wait."

"So you want to bring this to Liara," he deduces as he sits up, untangling her hand from his face before taking the datapad from her hand to scan the contents of the message. "How do you know she'll even use this? That it's even worth putting ourselves on the line for her, which we both know will happen."

"I'm sensing some hostility from you." Jane, to her credit, doesn't sound all that surprised. She's smart, despite what she likes people to think, and he knows she didn't need hear exactly about what happened the first time they revisited their old crew member and the Asari maiden admitted to keeping the secret behind his wife's resurrection to herself. It is because of that that he simply rumbles in acquiescence and she continues. "Despite what you may think of her, I find it hard to believe you wouldn't do the same as her."

"I wouldn't have let my one-sided obsession keep the knowledge from the one who was actually bonded to you," he growls, making her sigh and take his hand, their fingers taking the unusual pattern they mastered long ago. "She's worse than Kaidan… where his is a slight overstep of his bounds, she is obsessed with everything about you, like you are some 'Goddess'. He can live without you, and he has proven that through the years, her sole focus is  _you_. So much so that she sold your body to the lesser, but still admitted, evil."

"I don't know what to tell you. I've done all I could to get her to see that I don't, at all, share it, but you have to remember she's a kid. Okay, young woman, but the point still stands." Her hand in his squeezes before she says, "You have to at least admit that I'm alive because of her. If nothing else, even if the circumstances are less than ideal or even acceptable, then try to be professional when we pass this info to her. It may become something valuable when the time comes time to pool all our resources together."

"She may not want to see me." Seeing her intrigued glance to him from over her shoulder and raised brow, he sighs a rumbling growl. "She and I didn't quite agree the last time we spoke."

"Understatement of the century, maybe even millennia. I hear you threatened to kill her if she ever came close to me again," she regales with a chuckle. "Honestly, she doesn't have a choice who I bring with me considering we are doing  _her_  a favor in bringing this information. However," she adds with a pointed look over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and brows drawn tight. "I need to trust that you will keep your head on straight, treat this like any normal mission and hold your hate, or whatever you have, for her, be the better man… alien … you get the point."

"Understood, Commander," he agrees, not with any bite or attempt to put distance between the two of them, but with an understanding nod of his head and reassuring rumble. He can hold back his personal opinion of the woman for this mission because it is the capacity at distancing their life from the battlefield, a trait bred into him all his life –  _and at least one good thing I took from my strict regimen of physical and temperance training since childhood_  – that has gotten him this far.

* * *

It's taken them an attempted assassination, Spectre appearance, building explosion, Spectre betrayal, crash through a window – luckily not involving his ever impulsive wife, but the young Poe which he figures he should be concerned about considering Liara's lack thereof - harrowing drive through Illium traffic with his mate at the wheel, trek through an Asari brothel – because that's exactly what it is – hostage situation, Spectre death, and a treacherous trek over the outer hull of a massive ship flying  _within_  the deadliest lightning storm Garrus has probably ever seen, but they are finally within the confines of the Shadow Broker's uniquely designed ship.

When they fought their way through to the prison and containment deck of the ship, it didn't take them long to find the friend Liara mentioned. Even more surprising was the fact that he was still alive after all this time.

Although, seeing his current condition and the condition of his containment, 'alive' didn't necessarily mean he'd stay that way. Not with their only option of removing him from the interrogation tool that shocked him with any wrong move was to shut down the power to it from the central operations hub of the ship. Of course, he'd be denying himself any semblance of intelligence if he said he didn't think that'd  _also_ be the location of the Shadow Broker, himself.

Speaking of, Garrus certainly wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't standing here looking down the barrel at what was surely the only Yahg outside of the system its species was quarantined to by the Council's orders. That the species was not only beyond the mindless killing machines and able to talk, but also control such a vast network of information and dealings all across the galaxy, was something not taught in his Galactic History instructions, but, then again, he's learned quite a lot over the years his training seems to have skimmed over or missed completely.

He knew the history between Liara and the Broker would come to play, that the whole purpose they were here would be quite obvious to the one who supposedly knew everything. Yet, the way he –it? - spoke with such confidence, such nonchalance, that is was unmistakably an unimpressed condescension is what Garrus knew irritated his mate like nothing else.

"Working with the Collectors?" The fiery redhead barks a laugh, devoid of any humor and not even causing her raised weapon to falter. "I can save you the disappointment and tell you what a shit storm that'll turn out to be. Think of this as a fucking favor to get your head out of your ass."

"Your arrival is convenient, Shepard," the Yahg continues without a falter at the bravado. "The Collectors' offer still stands."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to have to disappoint you. I have my own date with the bug bastards." The Turian growls in agreement, though he wouldn't have put it so delicately.  _Probably best that she's hiding our involvement, even though the thing is sure to already know. Else it'd be quite the unexpected surprise._

"A date you won't be making."

He has to give credit to T'Soni, when it comes down to the need for action, for unflinching confidence, she has learned how to bottle her emotions, focus on the field. Losing friends and allies tends to do that to a person, no matter what their life before or motives. "You're quite confident for someone with nowhere left to hide."

Ignoring her with a turn of its shadowed head, its examines over them as a whole, Liara, Jane, himself, and Poe who has taken this as a personal mission to save her friend as well – and who was Liara or Jane to deny her that when she's already proven she can fight through her past. "You travel with interesting companions, Dr. T'Soni. It's good you returned AT–FD / Subject 12. Now I can personally see to the terms of its failure to carry out its mission." Its eight eyes turn to him. "And you, Archangel. Your high-priced bounty is still unclaimed. Your relationship with Shepard will benefit in raising your value even higher."

A cry – which is more a growl with the amount of anger that even glowed in his mate's eyes - of "He's not a fucking piece of meat!" echoes with Liara's "You're not putting a hand on anyone!"

"It's pointless to challenge me no matter how many you decide to share in your failed attempt here, Asari. I know your every secret, while you fumble in the dark."

"It's unfortunate you don't think I would have done my research of everything I could get my hands on. This base is older than your planet's discovery, your people's quarantine, which can only mean you killed the original Shadow Broker at least sixty years ago so you could take over. You were probably taken from your homeworld by a trophy hunter who wanted a slave… but a pet sounds more likely."

She smirks at the actual twitch of the creature's features, a jerk instead of the calm flutters, and Garrus knows it must have hit a sore spot, thinking,  _wasn't it because they didn't think the ambassadors were good enough to be equal, and took that as a slight, that the massacre took place?_

"Feel free to correct me when I begin to 'fumble in the dark," the young Asari adds, causing the massive beast to stand from its seat.

They have a single, short moment of heavy tension before it roars, huge fists slamming down on the large desk that has to be at least the length of the conference table back on the Normandy, shattering it into large pieces that is then hefts with little effort. Garrus has only moment where he hears his wife's voice in his head saying, quite fittingly, 'well, fuck me' before everything goes black.

* * *

When he comes with a groan, his entire bad side pulsing in in sharp stabs with each beat of his heat, it's the sight of his wife that greets him as she leans over him and, by the look in her eyes and the quirk of her smirk, he knows he's never going to live his fall to a piece of desk debris down.

As if hearing his very thoughts, she chuckles as she cups his chin, turning it to each side to check his condition – always one to check the seriousness before making things awkward with a unneeded joke - and she says, "You need to learn how to duck, Vakarian."

"Right, because those elusive flying desks can come out of nowhere and knock you right on your ass," he responds with a soft rumble in silent assurance that he's okay and just needs to give himself a moment to make sure his half-gone face is still pieced together under that bandage.

"If it's any consolation, Poe got it just as bad as you." Taking her offered hand up, he takes a moment to look around the large room, his raised brow in questioned answered by a shrug in 'explain later'.

Gathering his wits, and legs, they don't immediately recognize the direction of their former friend until they hear her voice, now distorted by computerized identification jammers. "This is the Shadow Broker. The situation is under control." He hums in question and looks to Jane, who seems like she's just as unaware of the new development as he is. Poe, however, takes it in stride, whether because she knows this would happen all along or because she didn't expect anything less from T'Soni, he cannot tell.

At least someone seems shocked with all this, as the Drell, Feron, rushes in, raising his gun even before his eyes and mind catch up to his reflexes. Garrus watches him blink in surprise, gun slightly lowering as Liara orders over the comms, "I want a status report on all operations within the next solar day. Shadow Broker out."

"Goddess of oceans…" They stand aside, this new revelation obviously something the weak man needs to handle himself between just the two of them, after two years in what was undoubtedly the worst possible captivity that hadn't yet ended in death. "It's you… You…how?" His eyes look over the massive readouts of active audio feeds. "You're the new Shadow Broker?"

"Well, good," Jane interrupts, stepping into their more proper reunion. "Unless you've forgotten, we have a war coming. With everything the Shadow Broker has in your hands, you can find something – fuck,  _anything_  – that can help us." Neither of them pay attention to whatever Feron says that gains a nod in acknowledgement from the Asari as she turns back to her new terminal that, quite literally, holds every bit of knowledge in the galaxy. "Liara."

That one, solitary word seems to break the young woman, her shoulders hunching with a soft sob and Garrus immediately smells the salty scent of tears. He motions Poe to come with him as Jane moves to offer whatever comfort she can, even if he's never known her to be able to drop that stiff Commander mask when it comes to physical contact.

 _At least the hug is not as awkward as when they first saw each other again on Illium_ , he thinks as they separate, speaking together over the readouts for a scare few minutes. When it seems like they have said all they can, the air still seemingly thick from before and now with this new, extremely massive, access to the power of knowledge at her fingertips, his wife returns to him, but with a soft smile on her lips that tells him that, maybe, he might want to consider at least cooling the bad blood between the Asari and himself, at least for Jane.


	51. Chapter 51

-Jane-

It's been ten damn days that she's been puking nearly every morning like clockwork and, quite frankly, she's getting really fucking tired of it. Why her stomach suddenly thought her digestive tract is a two-way street she doesn't care, but it better knock it the fuck off so she can do her damn job.

 _Yeah, big talk when you're praying to the porcelain there, Jane_ , she ridicules as she heaves again, glaring at last night's… whatever it was again. Who'd have thought the thing that'd take her down wouldn't be a rogue Spectre, a merc or merc band, the Collectors,  _or_ the Reapers, but Mess Sergeant Gardner's cooking.  _'I wash my hands' my shiny new Cerberus ass._

"Jane." A concerned voice calls just before a warmth crouches beside her, a hand rubbing her back as another helps hold her loose hair out of the way. "Why haven't you gone to Chakwas yet," Garrus asks with a worrying rumble to match his twitching mandible.

Spitting some of the bile out of her mouth, hating the sting and taste she's had tailing her over a week straight. "Because I already talked to her on the first day. She said it's probably food poisoning because Gardner is a fucking janitor first and cook second. Plus, the Reaper didn't count, dead bodies will make anyone blow chunks."

"I mean why haven't you gone  _lately_. It's been ten days. I don't think food poisoning lasts that long." Offering a hand, she lets him help her up to her feet and stands back while she brushes her teeth. "Look, I know you're stubborn, and at least we didn't have to worry about you trying to take out the Geth servers with the contents of your stomach," she snorts around her brushing, "but what if you start vomiting on Aite? You said it yourself, we need the entire ground crew for this big of a location and I don't want you in the fight if you're, well-"

Spitting, she smirks with the foam on her lips and interrupts, "Introducing the crew to my breakfast in vivid technicolor?"

"In not so many descriptive words, yes." He blocks the doorway, hands taking hold of her shoulders. "You are staying-"

"What?!" She scowls, fists glowing blue as the ball tight enough that her knuckles make a creaking noise from what must be the Cerberus cybernetics. To his credit, her husband doesn't budge. If anything, he matches her rage with a deep growl as he steps closer, actually standing at his height to tower over her, and his eyes dark in warning.

"You. Are. Staying," he says, more warning vocals that challenge her to resist, and she starts to see the Archangel that the best of the merc bands pissing their pants. "You are no good on the field in your condition and you know I'm right." When her lips tight and she releases deep, drawn out breath of seething anger, she feels a strong grip on her chin, making her look up at him. "Stop being a fucking idiot and think."

"Bold fucking words, Vakarian," she snaps with a swat at his hand, not caring about the sting that signals the fact that his talons at least drew a bit of blood. "You forget I'm your fucking commanding officer."

"Consider this a temporary relief of duty." There's a split second of shock before her fist flies out, but he's fast, grabbing her wrist before it can land. "Commander Shepard, you are unfit to fulfill your duties due to your condition present over the past ten standard days according to the Normandy's day / night cycles."

"Don't you fucking dare spout fucking regs-"

"Under these conditions, you are temporarily relieved of duty until the Normandy's Medical Physician deems you fit to return to active duty," he continues without faltering, a low rumble under his emotionless words that speaks of concern.

It's only because she can tell from the things he doesn't need to say with his words that she relaxes in his hold, shoulders slumping in sudden exhaustion that has nothing to do with the nearly complete lack of any relaxation and fitful sleep, but the cause of it all. The closer they get, the more the reality weighs on her that, even if they can manage to defy all odds and return from the Omega-4, they will only end up in the same sort of Limbo she found herself in after Saren.

What's worse is the fact that now she's got this stint with Cerberus to further discredit her warnings about the Reapers, no matter how much hard evidence she may present to anyone who will listen – or be forced to hear because she's just going to scream until someone relents. Not the way a true politician would do, but, hell, she never wanted to be one in the first place, so she'll go at it like she would a fight, charging in headfirst and beating her opponents into submission. The only difference is that she'll be using her words instead of her fists and, if her crew's complaints are to be believed, the two are interchangeable in impact.

"Jane," he says in attempt to pull her away from her thoughts as he bends to gently nudge her forehead with his and she can't help the soft press back that pulls a rumbling purr from him.

Sighing heavily, she lifts hands she hadn't known he released up to cup his face in a way that will not cause pain on his wounds. "You're right…" She doesn't feel like it's an act of relenting so much as an opening of her eyes, finally seeing past the blinders thrown up from her knee-jerk defensiveness to her mate's justifiable concern over the validity of her command in her current condition.

"You admitting I'm right? You must really be sick," he jokes with rumbling amusement in his chest, turning into an audible chuckle when she pouts in mock anger and swats his chest with the back of her hand. Growing serious, Garrus cups her face to look up at him. "You go be seen by Chakwas and I will take the ground team to Aite. I'll send you the link to my visor and our comm channel if we need to change it once we get planetside and find Cerberus chatter on our usual frequency."

Jane nods before sighing, at least determined to not sit out the entire mission even if his offer is more a curse than a helpful offer for her to be involved. "I will play nice, go to the MedBay, but the  _second_ I hear anything off about the mission, I'm dropping. I mean it, Garrus…" she narrows her eyes to help support how deathly serious she is about this. "Mean it as in I'm taking my armor down to the MedBay so I can suit up the second I either get cleared or hear trouble, and don't even try to hide it from me."

Shrugging with a shake of his head, he agrees begrudgingly –  _because he knows he doesn't have a damn choice_ , "Fine, Jane. This isn't me agreeing with your obvious insistence that your health comes second because you  _know_  my views on your safety and health, but since I can't stay here to physically force you to go see the doctor, I will make damn sure you can't go down to Aite."

She lifts a brow, unconvinced with his confidence of thinking he can manipulate the battlefield.  _Hell, if he could, we wouldn't be having to worry about the shit hitting the fan on every fucking mission we drop on._

"I'm curious to see how you manage that," she says as she crosses her arms, jutting her hip. "And even more curious as to why you haven't managed to use this magic ability to influence our luck on missions before now, when I won't even be dropping."

"That's the unfortunate thing," he hums with a shake of his head and a slight smirk. "My powers don't seem to work whenever you're around. You must just be my polar opposite, negating my abilities."

She snorts, finally cracking a smile. "You're such a fucking shit."

"Normally, I'd question why someone would compare me to excrement, but I know it's just your own special way of saying you love me, think I'm the most handsome Turian alive, the best shot, can make calibrating look good, am great in bed-"

"Alright, alright," she interrupts as she manually turns him, giving a shove to his back to hurry the hell up and get suited up for the mission. "Get off your ego trip and get ready for your drop, you  _are_ the commanding officer for this, after all." He scoffs, but she knows it's with little true annoyance, and she chuckles as she heads down the steps to help him.

They get through it quickly when working together and, despite his warning that he better not see her coming to Aite, he helps her convince – which actually turns out easier than planned – Chakwas to see her up in her cabin so she can both keep an eye on the ground crew's progress and keep her condition away from scuttlebutt. She's sure the agreement between her Turian husband and ship doctor is just because they want her to be complacent, sees the truth in the fact that she'd probably just stay in the CIC pacing instead of actually going to the MedBay, and at least with her in a 'safe' place, she can feel somewhat in control in a situation where she is a slave to her body's fucked up idea of a joke. So with an assurance that she will be back up to the Loft to start the exam, she goes to the Cargo Bay to pass on her command in front of them all to limit any questioning planetside, when she is not physically around to punch or kick fucking sense and respect into them.

Surprisingly, there is not a single noise of protest or insolence towards their unofficial XO taking the reins for this mission and she wonders if perhaps this is the best sign towards their survival past the Relay looming on the horizon. If they can learn to rely on each other explicitly and combine it with their physical upgrades to the Normandy and individual equipment, they just might be able to drop into hell and drag themselves back out.

And so the torch is passed to the one person she knows can do it –  _'leadership potential overshadowed', my ass. Let's just hope Liara isn't as batshit crazy and inaccurate_ – and she watches the large group of her acquired team stand at attention as her husband gives them the debrief of their situation. It's been a long time since she stood on the sidelines, listened to another strategize and layout the groundwork for when the action begins, and it gives her a unique outsider's view.

In this one moment, she can both see a new side of Garrus she knew existed, but never had the chance to see due to only ever having him below her on the chain of command, and see how he has grown over the two years they had lost. No longer is he the questioning man that lived in the shadow of a lesser Turian, but an individual, the one who gained the reputation on an immoral as the only form of avenging justice that even gained the attention of the self-appointed, 'untouchable' Queen, herself.

Watching from behind the windows of the safety of the Engineering hallway as their numbers divide into the two shuttles and Hammerhead, she sees him pass before being the last one in and look up to her. She smiles and gives a firm nod in silent 'give 'em hell' and chuckles when she sees his mandible spread in a huge grin.  _Yeah, he'll do a damn good job down there._

She stays, overseeing their disengage from the Normandy, until the Cargo Bay doors close, shutting off her view of the tree vehicles carrying her entire ground crew – hell, her unconventional family after so long living and working together on a tiny ship in space. With nothing else to keep her from the unfortunate reality of having to suffer through a visit from Chakwas, she heads up to the Captain's Quarters.

As she rides the lift, Jane calls out to the ship's integrated AI. "EDI, keep me updated on the IFF install. I may not understand all the lingo, but I'd like to know if my ship is suddenly becoming a Reaper or is dead in the sky."

"While I have taken the necessary precautions to ensure that the Normandy will not 'suddenly become a Reaper', the unusual instability in other systems presents a need to further analyze its impact before we attempt to use it for our travel through the Omega-4 Relay. I will update you when the installation is complete or if there are any additional delays." With the lift arriving at the first deck, Jane merely nods and dismisses EDI to deal with their own separate matters.

She hopes to get over and done with this visit, never a fan of a person one usually only sees when too wounded to just walk off an injury- not that Chakwas, herself, is an intolerable person - so she can jump into the team on the ground's comms and Garrus' visor feed and get a feeling of what they're up against in the Cerberus facility. Goal in mind and determined to accomplish it, she starts to explain her symptoms to Chakwas, hoping that the doctor can just give her a shot or pills for the nausea.  _Or better yet, help me convince Gardner to stop cooking_ _ **and**_ _cleaning shit out of toilets._

Much to her annoyance, she isn't graced with such an easy fix to her ailment and, even when all she wants is something for the nausea, the doctor  _insists_  that Jane sit around while she runs tests. Tests that include blood being drawn – numerous times – and peeing in a cup – again, quite a few times fueled by the water Chakwas is forcing down her throat – and an extensive minute-by-minute retelling of the past two weeks.

"Jesus Christ, Chakwas," she mock whines. "I don't even say all this shit to Garrus, how am I supposed to remember what I ate for lunch  _eight_ days ago? I can barely remember last night's dinner."

"Well, since you're vomiting, don't you think the first thing we should check would be your diet?" The woman raises a single silver brow. "Or would you rather wait the few hours while the tests run, just staring holes into your armor?"

At the motion to the armor locker on her far wall that she hadn't realized she was staring at in hopes she could find a way to be needed on the ground, Jane sighs through her nose before groaning. "But I hate it here…"

" _Commander_ Shepard. There is no need to make a bigger fuss than a child-"

"You don't even have candy to bribe me with either," she cuts the doctor off, seeing the woman roll her eyes with a shake of her head. "You know,  _normally,_ when you drain someone of that much blood, you at least give them a cookie or-"

"Shepard," her attention snaps at EDI's interruption. "I have detected a signal embedded in the static coming from the IFF. We are transmitting the Normandy's location." Eyes widening, Jane stands, about to order them to FTL jump to lose their pursuers when EDI gives a report even worse than the first. "Propulsion systems are disabled. I am detecting a virus in the ship's computers."

"Fuck!" Her balled fist slams onto the side table, the emission from her flared in rage biotics frying the small alarm clock radio and scattering her collection of loose drawings. "Send a ship wide alert of an enemy boarding," she practically growls and she rushes to her armor, yanking it from its place in the locker. "Everyone better arm them-fucking-selves. Those bastards will get us over my fucking corpse!  _Again_." The AI doesn't need to be dismissed, doesn't even bother to waste time acknowledging the order, and she doesn't fear the message not getting through.

As she yanks on her undersuit, she sees something she'd never thought she'd see in her peripheral. Even as a doctor with her patients' medical concerns coming first, it is obvious in her wide eyes glistening with what Jane is ashamed to acknowledge as the woman's true fear making itself known beyond her professional mask. What this must feel like for Chakwas to once again find herself on a ship – a  _Normandy_ , no less – being attacked by what is absolutely, without a doubt, the same damn ship as before has to be something akin to Jane's own thoughts.

Except she is going to be damn sure she doesn't go down without a fight this time. No suffocating in the cold of space because she was blown out of her crumbling ship and had her respirator tubing nicked. Oh no, if she has to, she will take them down with her and the Normandy.

Stupid? Absolutely, but she isn't in the right mind to care.

"Shepard," a weak voice comes from her right as shaking hands offer to help hand over armor pieces. "You can't fight in your condition." There is no fight in the words, no real command to stop, because they both know that there is no other option than to fight, to go down with the ship again if she has to. Puking up her insides doesn't disqualify the Commander of the Normandy from fighting off an enemy boarding party.

"I have no choice. I won't wait up here with my finger up my ass until they come up and I  _will not_ go down without a fucking fight this time." She punctuates each word with a snap of another piece of armor into position.

As if to further illustrate how dire the situation is, the AI doesn't even bother to materialize the glowing orb hologram as EDI speaks, a tone in her tone that Jane almost could trick herself into believing as slight panic. "Shepard. I can save the Normandy, but in order to do so, I need my sealed databases unlocked. I can initiate countermeasures and bypass the defense systems."

"EDI, I don't understand a fucking word," she snaps as she grabs her weapon and starts to rush to the corridor between the lift and the door to their cabin. "But I need a way down from my level."

"There is a maintenance tunnel that leads from your position to the Crew Deck." What looks like emergency lighting on the floor illuminates a path to a hatch. "The lights will guide you, Shepard."

"Status," she orders as she leaves Chakwas in the 'safety' of the Loft, almost ripping the access tunnel's hatch off its hinges and dropping down to rush as much as she can while half crouched in full armor.

"The Collectors have boarded the ship. They seem to be actively taking the crew instead of opening direct fire."

"Tell me something I don't know." Scowling and glowing in rage, she uses a strong kick backed by the force of one of her biotic charges on the hatch to the Crew Deck, sending the piece of metal flying and, coincidently, manages to hit one of the Collectors dragging her crew onto the elevator just before the doors close. "Get back here, you fucking pricks!"

Her search for a fight doesn't go unnoticed for long as one of the large masses of bodies shuffles around the far end of the elevator shaft, moaning one of those painful moans before firing the cannon on its arm. Jane tucks back behind the wall and keeps her head down as she sprints to the counter in the Mess, sliding over it, not caring at how that scatters pots and pans with loud clangs and bangs sure to attract any and all enemy forces on this level, and drops behind the far end for cover.

This position gives her the distance she needs as she uses the trick Samara taught her, draining the massive husk creature to boost her own barrier before leveling her pistol and beginning to fire. Not caring to hide behind her cover until she absolutely has to, when she sees that tell-tale charging of that cannon, she counts her bullets and ejects the sink, snapping in a new one in one fluid movement, until the creature finally falls.

In such close quarters with such an accurate long range armament, she doesn't think she can take on another unless she manages to get the surprise on them when they round the corner. Even then, she doesn't think she has enough heat sinks.

 _Wait… Garrus' weapons bench._ Her head snaps to the Main Battery and she gives the area a quick scan, seeing only the shadow on the wall beside the Life Support of a Collector that hasn't seemed to notice her. Figuring that this is as good a chance as any, she takes off for a sprint towards her mate's station, knowing he's prepared for any kind of eventuality.  _One more for the paranoid Archangel._

When the doors slide open directly before she can run head-on into them, she has a breath's length of time to register the four eyed silhouette in the way. Thinking face, she ducks under the sights of its weapon and gives a strong punch into the crook of the thing's elbow, hearing the audible crack.

With its grip weakened, she grabs the underside of its weapon and, with added force from her biotics, slams it up, hitting the Collector in the face to a loud whirring squeal of pain. Yanking the useless, to her, weapon from the staggered monster, she uses the heavy piece of weaponry as the only thing she can imagine, clubbing it over and over until there is nothing left attached to its neck but a disgusting yellow-green pulp where its head used to be.

Panting from her rage alone, she tosses the useless piece of shit weapon aside and grabs the assault rifle from the weapons bench. She's always known she could trust on Garrus to watch her back, even when not physically with her, and isn't surprised, but relieved, to find a good stash of heat sinks.

Holstering her pistol for the much more efficient assault rifle, she puts her back to the wall beside the doors and checks out towards the lift. The shadow is still there, but what concerns her is the lowering of the elevator once more, stopping on her level to loud, piercing screech.

Flashes of fighting the massive source of that noise remind her that there's no way she can take it down in these close quarters and she doesn't have anywhere to go once it manages to make its way to her location. Not to mention that it could probably destroy the deck right under her feet when it slams onto the ground with a 360 shockwave.

Glancing around the corner, she curses when the Collector that had been just pacing the deck sees her, clicking and chirping in what she assumes is an alert. An alert that turns the giant creature of a hundred stole faces towards her. "Fuck," is all she can say to the amount of shit she's found herself in.

Just then, the lights flicker for a split second, but that's all that's needed for her eyes to catch and realize a very simple, very stupid, mistake she has made. ' _Always check your surroundings, rookie'_  the Drill Instructors always shouted from recruitment until graduating out of boot camp and here she is, forgetting the one thing she doesn't think she's ever gotten lazy on.

Ducking out of the Battery before the Scion's blast can hit and stun her, she rolls towards the counter that had given her a small amount of cover. That leaves her, really fucking regrettably, surrounded in front and behind in an environment that is much too small for this kind of fight. Her only saving grace – and she can't believe a single word of that – is that their fire seems to be more to flush her out or stun her.

Knowing she has no choice but to go out swinging, she levels up the rifle and starts firing without pause into the husk creature closing in from the Battery, one enemy from her unshielded side better than two somewhat blocked by her half-assed cover. She knows she'd never be able to take them all out, but, to his credit, her mate knows what he's doing with his weapons as she actually feels like she can have a chance when she sees the Scion drop before even managing to get past the sleeper pods.

Relief, it seems, is always short lived for her, for when she gets the chance to take in the newly changed situation, she realizes that the hostiles at her back have moved faster than she anticipated. Fast enough, she regrets to admit, that when a shadow falls over her, drowning her in darkness, she knows it is only one thing and, despite her every instinct screaming not to, not to stare the end in the eye –  _eyes, a fuck ton of them_  – she raises her eyes to a thousand screaming faces, like the accusing faces of her nightmares in agony for an eternity.

She has only a moment to tighten her hands around the weapon and close her eyes in deafening, heart wrenching, defeat before the darkness behind her eyelids engulfs her, no longer of her control as she loses consciousness.


	52. Chapter 52

-Garrus-

Since hearing the devastating message from the Normandy that finally made it through to their comms _after_ they discovered the truth behind the 'rogue VI' on Aite - and after they subsequently used the research station's now open comms to contact the Alliance of the need for asylum for David Archer far from his brother- Garrus has been in a state of stunned shock.

All sounds are nothing but distant murmurs that don't make it past his ears as if hearing through a helmet with communications inactive and his eyes see nothing but the shadows of people he thinks he knows and lights too bright. He has only found himself in the Conference room from being practically herded in by the rest of the ground team not giving him any other direction as bodies swarmed around him from their transports and into the lift in a need for explanation.

Certainly he must be within the virtual reality that the VI / human hybrid threw him into because there's no way he could have lost her - _again_ \- to the Collectors _on the Normandy_. She was supposed to be safe here, on the more advanced Normandy with defenses and armaments he personally made sure could drop a Reaper and, yet… she is gone.

What's worse -worse than the truth that he has only himself to blame for her being on the ship when it happened - and what doesn't help this all feel real, is that he doesn't feel that certainty. Physically, he knows she is not here, but there is that lack of absolution that suffocates when he knows she's _gone_.

After all, he lived it for two years to ever doubt that feeling, but it's not there and he isn't sure if that's a good sign or just caused by his state of utter shock. The beginning of those years apart was pretty fuzzy from the amount of alcohol he drowned his system in, so he may not have his timeframe of grief and loss correct.

He wishes it was him dragged away by the demons of her dreams instead of the second half to his very self, to face this enemy alone. No matter what he seems to do, he is always two steps behind her when, as she would say, 'the shit hits the fan'.

"Don't even get me started on unshackling a damned AI."

"Hey, I did the only thing I could to save the Normandy," the pilot snaps at Lawson in defense, and the words seem to make it through the fog in Garrus' head, the words completely reopening old wounds that had begun from the moment they received EDI's relayed transmission.

"What did you just say," he growls as he shoves past someone between him and Joker, not caring who it was, and wraps his hand around the man's neck, firm like a vise ready to snap even the strongest of bones in his grip. "You sacrificed my wife, _again_ , for the fucking _Normandy_?! _Again_?!"

The pilot chokes a bit, brittle hands not even attempting to break themselves to useless attempt to get free, and the others seem unsure if they should step between the raging Turian, whose anger they seem to understand in this moment, or Joker, who may or may not have done something more to save the crew or their Commander. "I did all… I could… Garrus. You have… To believe me…"

"I don't," he snarls with a slight shake of the man. "I made a mistake not killing you the first time-"

"Garrus," a soft, accented voice starts as a small three fingered hand lays on his forearm before Tali turns her helmeted face up to him. "This isn't the way."

"We did everything we could, Operative Vakarian." He growls at the blue orb siding with the useless sack of glass bones and meat. "There was no way for the Normandy to be able to elude the Collectors or defend itself after the viruses embedded themselves in my systems."

"We can go after her, now, Garrus," Tali says, a plea obvious in her tone and wide, worried eyes. "We aren't going to give up and give her reason to call us something dirty and confusingly human, are we?" She offers some humor, her hand on his armor tightening as if he could feel it, feel her concern.

With a scoff, he drops Joker, none too gently, onto the ground, not caring at the loud gasps and coughs for air. "You want redemption, coward? You want to prove you're more than a ship _scortum_? Then get to your fucking post and plot course for the Omega-4 Relay," he grabs the man's uniform and yanks him to his feet, growling with mandibles dropped to reveal his teeth in threat, "and if you fail, you better hope your death is quick by other means because I will not be so merciful."

Miranda, despite all their differences and arguments, actually nods as he shoves Joker towards the door. "I'm with Garrus. It's time we finally take the fight to the Collectors."

"And rescue the crew and Shepard," Jacob adds with a determined nod in agreement. "Just give the word."

Surprisingly, eyes don't turn to the ebony haired woman, but to _him_ , the Turian who hasn't been subtle with his complete lack of forgiveness against any slight to his wife or threats to the crew in case their loyalty falters. Even Miranda Lawson, herself, looks to him for input or orders and, just like that, his rage is completely drained and he's thrown back down into that pit of shock and loss of direction.

Knowing what has to be done and drawing on an old saying the military tried to drill into his head - 'Fall in line or be left behind in the line of fire' - he nods, squaring his shoulders at least for the show of being in control of his warring emotions. "Everyone stock up on whatever you spent on Aite and head to your stations, we move on the Collector homeworld the moment we jump Relays. We _will_ get the crew and Jane back, or die trying - and taking every last one of those abominations with us."

Knowing better than to question or stick around, the band of misfits his wife somehow managed to collect together into a cohesive team take their leaves without so much as a breath of sound beyond the shifting of respective armors and footfalls. Say what he will about them, and ignore the ache in his chest from the absence of that very driving force at his side, Jane put together an amazing team despite his previous doubts. They worked well planetside under his command, with very little arguing or insubordination, and he has to at least give them the credit that they know how to put their personal issues aside for the mission like true soldiers.

Seemingly alone, Garrus moves to the large table and leans on it, eyes clenched tightly against his low keen. _She's gone, gone and I did nothing but force her to stay here, practically handing her offer into Collector hands. In my attempts to protect her, I unwittingly failed her._

He growls in anger to the sounds of his talons carving into the glossy wood just before he slams a fist into the table, hearing a crack in his hand as the thick wood merely creaks, the weaker of the two giving into the force of his fury and pain. The room is spinning, not from a pain he doesn't even feel in his hand or head since being forced into virtual memories of another or the exhaustion from the long mission, but from the tumultuous storm of emotions, the biggest contenders to his rage guilt and gut wrenching fear.

He _cannot_ lose her again. If he does, he won't wait and go out in a meaningful suicide and, instead, just put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

"Garrus," a feminine voice combined with an accent that doesn't completely get across through his translator speaks, letting him know he wasn't at all as alone as he thought.

"If you're here to complain about me giving orders and stepping in on your command, don't bother," he interrupts before she can even start, back still to her and thrumming growl still pointed down at the table. "You finally want the control? You now have it."

"That's unnecessary. The team would follow you more than they ever would me. And after Aite, I'll admit I'm impressed. Shepard's faith in you was well placed."

At his incredulous look over his shoulder, she explains her sudden support after all the two of them have personally been through. "I know why you did everything you have, our disagreements. If I place myself in your position and Oriana in Shepard's, I would hesitate to do much the same as you have.

"I can see you're more suited to take us all beyond the Relay to find her. After all, everyone on the ship already considers you the unofficial XO of the Normandy no matter who the Illusive Man put in that position. They also trust you, as do I after yours and Shepard's help with my sister."

Surprisingly, she smiles slightly in sincerity and he rumbles in uncertainty as he drops his head to stare holes into the wood between his outstretched arms. "You're well aware of what happened to my last 'team'. Doubt that's what you have in mind handing over command."

"First of all, the only command I have to hand over is the impracticable title of Executive Officer to someone who became the unofficial XO the moment he was brought aboard. Second, you won't let what happened to your old team happen here because you have more to lose." He doesn't care to hide his scoff, but she persists despite his refusal to believe. "You lose this team, you lose friends, people I'm sure you can see some semblance of family in no matter if you deny it. More importantly, if you lose the crew, you lose your chance to save her."

Mention of his missing mate draws another deep growl from him as he clenches his most likely broken hand into a tight, painful fist. "And if I sacrifice all of you for her? You still ready to convince me to take command?"

"No," she answers with little hesitation. "I know there is no convincing you of anything you won't do under any circumstances, only Shepard has that power. You will either step up and command in her absence or you won't."

"You willing to stake the entire crew and Normandy on that?" He narrows his eyes over his shoulder at the woman who seems so confident, so in control when he's falling apart at the seams. "You may be regretting that when I choose her over all of you without hesitance."

"I don't doubt you will," she agrees with a firm nod. "But we would be fools to think she wouldn't do the same for you in turn. I just need to look back to your accident and the time before, between her waking and finding you." Turning to leave, she stops with a look back to him. "For whatever it's worth, the crew is behind you, Vakarian."

He only has the sound of the doors closing to the deafening silence and the view of glossy, dark wood between his splayed fingers to give him company as he is haunted with the day, with his words to his wife, the transmission of the unbelievable that became very realist when his own eyes landed on the empty ghost ship void of all life but the useless boon of a pilot, and by the truth that, if he doesn't put aside his own agony and loss, he will lose everything. His chance to rescue his mate, fulfill her mission to maybe cripple or slow the Reapers, and get out of it all alive to prove everyone who claimed this would be a suicide mission wrong would all turn to sand slipping through his fingers.

Unless he swallowed his feelings, became a good Turian for once in his miserable excuse of a life of duty, and went into this as Archangel, void of the crippling noose around his neck that had slithered from the scarring on his neck and waist from a human's tiny teeth and weak bite. The question wasn't _could he,_ but _should he_. Should he let the part of himself void of empathy have control of the very people Jane had put together as a new part of her life, her family made of all kinds of characters from across the Terminus, and who may very well also occupy a sort of place in his own mind? Should he lead them into what can surely be all their deaths after all he's done?

It only takes a few moments before he realizes that there is only one answer, one he can live with himself for making and only one that will get all of them – _Jane, my bondmate, included_ – out of this alive. Realizing now that the words drilled into his head from basic really meant, he stands straight from the table and holds his head up with the Turian equivalent of Jane's Commander Shepard face, dubbed the Archangel mask by Jane, herself.

'Fall in line or be left behind in the line of fire' was not merely meant as a threat of death to subordinates for not following orders of their commanding officers as he once believed, but for those very commanding officers as well. Garrus will fall into the position he's been edging on from the beginning, led to by the guiding light of his mate and that he, himself, had always wanted, but was never able to achieve after he lost all drive.

Wielding the fear of complete failure as his driving force instead of the weights around his limbs, he will lead the Normandy into victory. He will fix the mistake of his and his mate's separation and, like the pull of Binary Stars, all he needs to do is stop fighting the gravity that pulls him to her, the same that pulls him into his place.

Heading out of the Conference room, he heads to the MedBay to gather what he needs before he will head up the Cabin and prepare. So much needs to be done in the short time before they reach the Omega-4 Relay and he has always been one to never leave things undone when there is no assurance that he will have a second chance.

* * *

Personal matters tended to – not including the moment of weakness he had when he got caught up in cleaning her scattered sketches from the floor where they must have been thrown during a struggle – and armor stocked with weapons, his and hers, on cleaned and strapped into their places, he returns to the Conference room with still a half hour to spare. It's just as well because he didn't have much more to do, and the new dose of drugs in his system was only making him pace and tense his muscles in anxiety up in the Loft, and he would be damned if he wasn't more than prepared from the moment they approached the Relay.

"Garrus, the Illusive Man is contacting the Normandy." EDI's voice follows him through the halls as he doesn't bother to stop and directly speak to the holographic orb. "He does not know of Shepard's current location. Do you wish to respond or reject his communications request?"

"Answer it, EDI," he growls with a sneer, good mandible flicking once with a clicking in his throat. "I have a few words for the man."

"Very well." Whether she has the capability to truly understand the look on his face and would rather not attract his attention or she simply continues to keep the clipped, emotionless tone even after her unshackling, he isn't in the mind to care as he steps into the already dark room, the table just completing its decent through a grid of lights that illustrate the perimeter of the QEC's sensors.

"Shepard." Garrus has to admit, seeing the Illusive Man in person – well, in hologram – just seems in contradiction to his very name. The illusion of an all-knowing head of humanity is lost when one sees that is it merely a man who apparently has a bad habit of smoking and staring at dying stars in a suit he's probably seen before on the Citadel in his days with C-Sec on some high class politician. "I wish I had more information for you." A slow draw of his cigarette and the Turian crosses his arms, getting more impatient the longer the man keeps his back to him. "I don't like you heading through that relay blind," at that, he begins to turn, "but we-"

"Expecting someone else," he rumbles with a flick of his mandible.

"I was expecting Shepard, not a game so close to the Normandy hitting the Relay." Standing here before the image of the man that most certainly must be accurate, Garrus wonders how such a man could really be the head of a monster that is Cerberus. _What did she call it, a three headed dog? Sounds like a nightmare creature, but, then again, Cerberus did too many nightmarish things to doubt her._

"This isn't a game." He drops his arms to his sides, fisting his hands with a growl. "You've either been withholding information from us or outright not knowing a damn thing. As far as I'm concerned, you've been more an obstacle than an ally."

"Unfortunate you feel that way, Archangel." Another long inhale held before an exhale that shadows his face in the imagining. "But I see it an entirely different way. Without me, none of this would have been possible. You wouldn't have been here and, more importantly, _Shepard_ wouldn't have been here."

At the mention of her name, as if she were some bargaining chip, he snarls and steps closer to the hologram, seeing the grid flash a red in warning of being near the end of the sensory range. "Listen to me and listen well, she is _not_ some toy for you and your fucking games-"

"Ah, yes. I know of your relationship with Shepard," the human interrupts. "While not my first choice to involve not only any familial involvement in the mission, but also that of her Turian husband, it was an unforeseen consequence of trying to provide her with the best operatives for her team."

Snorting in condescension, the fact that the human supremacist would – _surprise, surprise_ – insult his species helping to calm his rage due to the fact that racism isn't anything new he's had to put up with, no matter how subtle. "It takes a big man to sit in a chair and pretend he has value while sending others to do the work." He shakes his head with a chuckle void of any humor, or at least any _good_ humor, he speaks again before the man can try to say something else directed to rile him up again. "Now, unless you actually have something valuable to say, I'm two seconds about ordering EDI to terminate the call and lose this number."

Silence passes for a moment as the man, unperturbed it seems, takes another calm smoke. "Shepard is a valuable asset to all of humanity. Find her and assist her in succeeding in her mission."

Garrus admits that he takes after his wife when he says, "No shit, now tell me something that I don't already know." Though he doesn't actually stick around to give the man that option, turning and stepping from the comm platform with a low "And stop treating her like a fucking object."

Stepping from the Conference room, he finds Miranda coming to look for him, a look on her face that speaks before a single word leaves her lips. "We are in route to jump."

"Understood," he rumbles with a nod. "Oversee the jump from the cockpit."

"Where will you be," she asks, a bit stunned that he wouldn't be at the helm with the pilot to directly oversee the first time anyone of them has ever jumped the Omega-4 in hopes of surviving.

"The Battery. We still have to be prepared and on the offensive for whatever lies beyond the relay." Walking past her, he calls over his shoulders. "I'm the only one I trust to do that."

Sure, he knows Jane would be there, standing right beside Joker as they jump into the core of the galaxy to weather the storm of dying stars and black holes, but there is no use for his presence with it leaves them with no ship in the end. If this is to be the situation that hinges on the smallest of percentages of chance that he knows it will be, he'd rather not entrust it to the limiting mathematics and logic of an artificial intelligence when it takes more luck and ingenuity only an organic can achieve.

As the lift lands on the Crew Deck and Garrus starts to make his way to the Battery, he hears the ship wide alert to stand by for the jump and get ready for a most likely turbulent ride. He makes it to his station and snaps on his helmet, the room one of ones that would lose oxygen if there was an emergency to start diverting life support systems to locations where it could save more crew, just as he begins to feel the sensation of his organs shifting, almost as if weightless, that comes just before a jump.

It last longer than usual, his first sign that they truly are jumping, and when it's complete with a grinding halt of his internal lift, a halt so sudden that he audibly grunts and hears a gurgling of his gizzard's upset, he knows that all hell is about to break loose, as Jane would say. Turbulence hits next, the inertia so strong he stumbles at the console before turning on the magnetization in his boots. Never before did he think he'd have to use mag boots in the middle of a pressurized ship, but, like always, missions like these seem to redefine his expectations.

His head snaps up from the console at the whirring sound that echoes through this area of the ship that can only be from the secondary weapons under each of the wings, against each side of the hull. That can only mean they have found themselves combat, and his assumption is confirmed when the ship trembles at a loud screeching boom that leaves his ears ringing.

"EDI, report," he snaps out an order with barely a glance overhead to check and make sure whatever that noise indicated – which is also nearly impossible to pinpoint from his station – doesn't mean a giant hole in this particular part of the ship. _If the Thanix goes, we might not be able to take down anything bigger than a shuttle down and even set foot on the Collector's base._

"We are currently taking evasive maneuvers from hostile targets." Meaning they are too fast to be able to target and use the Thanix, that has a short period of charging, on. "Hull integrity is still maintained from the upgraded heavy armor." Another shutter shakes the ship with a thundering crash. "Alert. Hull breach on the engineering deck. Immediate intervention necessary."

"Dammit." Growling, he demagnetizes his boots and hits the command to the door. "I want Legion, Knight, and Mordin on my six. Now." His words must have either been louder than he thought or the AI had broadcasted his command because right as he makes it to the lift, the Geth and human are at his side, armed and organic, at least, helmeted.

When the lift opens, the last of his squad is there, ready and stepping aside for their admittance, and they drop down to the level, guns in hand. A heavy scowl lines Garrus' face as they enter the nearly destroyed cargo, giant holes in the hull through which they can see space filled with bright light and destroyed wreckages of past failed expeditions. The only thing separating them from a fate too eerily close to that of his mate's so long ago is the shimmering blue of the kinetic barrier and even that is still too little for his liking, too much of a reason to drop this flying orb of tech that has to be Reaper as fast as possible.

"Well the hell is that thing?!"

"Shut up and drop its armor," he growls through the comm as he motions the more professional of the three to circle around, try to flank or at least draw attention in tandem. That seems to snap the man into line as Garrus sees his helmet nod and raise that strange Collector weapon up, a beam much like the one this mechanical orb is emitting launching from the barrel and burning into its silvery plating.

The others follow in McKnight's example, ducking into cover with one lifts to lay down fire, and, when that red eye turns to him, Garrus takes a rocketing shot from his rifle, loving the recoil that surges through his body at the heavy boom in his ears. He'll admit it gets even better when the damage the shot makes is so visible that the orb shutters, closing its now cracked and sparking porthole and shooting out like a cannon through the hull, making yet another massive hole that the barriers cover, doing little to ease the vertigo of feeling sucked out to join the stars.

"We're sitting ducks out here," Joker's panicking voice practically yells through the entire ship – and comms, Garrus discovers, probably EDI's doing in attempts to keep everyone aware of the situation minute-by-minute which seems more likely to distract the crew than help them. "I have to try to lose them in the debris field. Everyone strap in and hold onto something!"

Mag boots activated again to keep them from fulfilling the very horrific possibility of accomplishing Garrus' previous fear, they have no choice but to hold on to something, anything – most of which turns out to be pieces of the shuttles or nearly destroyed cargo crates filled with food stuffs and day-to-day ship supplies – as the Bay flips end over end. _This isn't mere turbulence, Joker's_ _ **hitting**_ _the debris! Tali's barriers better hold._

Heavier shaking to the roaring thunder of barrier impacts and Garrus watches his team struggling. Knight is stumbling enough to lose his weapon as he makes the decision between keeping a hold on it or rush to a more secure crate to grip onto, Legion's head flaps flick rapidly as it probably attempts to predict which to be more concerned with, the return of that orb or their possible death via being ripped apart by derelict wreckages of ancient ships, and Mordin barely doges a crate that comes unsecured and goes tumbling over the deck and out the broken hull.

When it all seems too much for any single ship to take, the thundering and trembling stops, only leaving behind the overhead alert of the stability of the Cargo Hold and the haunting silence outside the massive holes. The stillness is short-lived, however, when their foe returns, he'd say angry if machines could ever truly feel emotion, and they are forced to find cover strong enough to withstand the new onslaught from the thing's beam after what they've already been through.

With it already heavily damaged and their ammunition well stocked enough to continue the fight longer that its armor can hold, the group is able to lower its defenses until it is at a point where it weapon's shielding is destroyed, its own hull sparking and damaged, and a loud, clanking sound is emitting every time its hovering changes direction. Knowing this is the point where they finally have a chance to end it in one single well, placed shot instead of continuing to whittle it down, Garrus sets up his shot.

With a sharp hand motion, he gives a nonverbal command and, learning fast from its short stay here on the Normandy, Legion leaves its cover, firing continuously to draw the orb's attention, and heads towards Garrus' position. It works, the orb turning its red, pulsing and leaking eye towards the Geth – and right into his scope – and he doesn't hesitate as he inhales, holds, and slowly releases as his finger adds the minutest amount of pressure to the trigger. With the resounding boom of his ebony rifle - a gift from nearly three years ago that still fires the same, if not better, as before- the machine explodes, its own weakness the very thing that made it so dangerous.

Snapping his weapon back, he doesn't wait for the others as he rushes back to towards the lift, the need to get back to his station burning in his mind. "EDI, status," he barks as his fist, still sore but overshadowed by the rush of adrenaline and drugs, slams against the lift command to rise.

"We have successfully lost all enemy pursuers. Kinetic barriers are at thirty percent." A pause as it most likely gauges the situation in the cockpit. "We are estimated to be clearing the debris field within the next few minutes."

Surprisingly fast compared to any other time he's taken it, or because his mind is more occupied with the potential disaster at any moment, the lift opens upon the Crew Deck and he wastes no time heading into his station, preparing the Thanix. If there's anything he's learned, it's to trust his instincts, and those very instincts are telling him that they will be needing this class of weaponry very soon.

Miranda's voice sounds through the ship and he's actually grateful to hear she took his order of position when she says, "We've cleared the field and are on approach to the Collector base. All hands are to be prepared for our arrival and …Wait," he growls, knowing that tone all too well in a time like this, "Prepare the main cannons. We have company."

His console lights up with a target closing in and he doesn't bother to care about the smirk that crosses his face and the excited thrum that vibrates in his helmet. He's waited for this moment, the chance to disintegrate the very ship that took away his mate, his life, for two whole, agonizing years, and had the audacity to steal her away _again_.

Now's his chance to fix that little discrepancy as he types fast into the console, pulling up his most devastating firing algorithm to date, one that will surely do what no other offensive measure has done to the Collector ship thus far. Watching the radar and console of sensory data, he waits for the perfect time, the words of the AI telling of the successful dodging of an enemy projectile blast just a buzzing in his ears when he sees it, the perfect shot.

Like the sniper he is, only wielding a pair of massive and powerful, Cruiser class cannons instead of a long range, heavy powered rifle, he takes that one opening that most would never catch, the split second between _the shot_ and a mere grazing or wounding one, and activates the firing sequence, sending a projectile of molten metal at a fraction of the speed of light straight into the center of the Collector ship, drastically crippling their defenses and maneuverability. The readings tell him enough to know that they are moving in for the kill, like a predator against a wounded animal, and it takes only seconds before he activates and fires the weapon again, piercing through the Collector's defenses and ship in an eruption of thunder that can't be completely contributed to the massive weapon recoils in the battery.

Before he needs the alert to brace for impact, he already knows they won't be landing like planned when a massive blast wave throws the ship, making him stumble and hit the weapons bench with a grunt and sharp bolt of pain up his side. He barely feels it, not when he's much more preoccupied with the jerk of momentum in the opposite direction that tosses him off his feet and sliding across the floor to crash into the side of the cannon.

He's pretty sure he blacks out for a few minutes because, when he comes completely to, there is no longer the bucking of the ship or the tell-tale sounds of a ship in flight, and he knows all too well the reason. Groaning as he gets to his feet, sure to be sore tomorrow – _if there is one_ – he shakes off the stiffness from the crash.

"EDI, ship status."

"Multiple core systems overloaded during the crash. Restoring operation will take time."

 _And now we all see why we all called it a 'suicide mission'_ , he thinks as he rumbles and nods. "And the crew? And injuries or casualties."

"No casualties or major injuries that will impede their capabilities during the assault on the Collector base," she informs. "Would you like me to direct the crew to the Conference Room?"

He nods and heads for the door. "Do it. And get me something we can go off of so we aren't going into this blind."


	53. Chapter 53

-Garrus-

"Alright," he says as he leans up from the table, everyone done filing into the room. "I won't waste time saying what we all already know, so let's cut right to the mission. I don't care all that much what you think of me or anyone else on this ship and, quite frankly, I don't give a damn." He growls as he eyes the group. "It's time you repay Jane, or Shepard or the Commander or whatever you call my wife, for her traveling across the galaxy to help each and every one of you to tie up all your loose ends when we have a galaxy to save. Put aside your differences, fall under my command, and we will all get through this, save the crew, destroy the Collectors, and find Jane."

Expecting nothing less, he watches as each and every one of them gives their affirmatives and full attention, at the ready to hear the debrief of how they will, as a team of merely fourteen men and women who can barely be called soldiers – only two of them confirmed ever truly being enlisted in any military of any sort – take on an entire base containing an entire race of Reaper enslaved husks of the former Prothean empire.

Garrus nods in approval as he turns his attention back to laying out a plan. "EDI, bring up the scans you have on this station." A massive holographic image of what looks like the base of operations built into an asteroid, hollowed out by more of the large station. It's easy to see how this massive structure could hold an entire race of the mutated remains of a former species.

"You should be able to overload their critical systems if you get to the main control," a small icon similar in shape to the Normandy appears low on the image as a blinking dot appears much higher, "here. To get there, you must pass through the center chamber of the station." Another light, this time in a path before another, inward chamber's image illuminates within the first in a more distinct hue.

"If this base is anything like the ship you encountered, the colonist and crew will be located in that central chamber," Miranda guesses as she narrows her eyes in thought, opening her tool and typing something into it that makes the image spin to give her a better angle. "See here?" Two lit courses weaving from the Normandy and up towards the central chamber. "These are the two main routes from our location. Both seem the same relative distance and should take equal amounts of time to cover."

"So we split up," Garrus answers without question, rumbling in certainty. "Dividing us up is more likely to limit the focus of enemy combatants, enable at least one team to make it through if we absolutely can't manage both, but I already see a problem." Leaning forward and using his tool to highlight an obstacle between both paths before they converge into the central chamber. "They can't be walls… has to be doors."

"You are correct," EDI explains as numbers and readouts frame the illustrated barriers. "Scans show the only way to enter the central chamber beyond these doors are to infiltrate their systems to open them from the opposite side. One may be able to gain access through this thermal ventilation shaft here." A smaller path illuminates between the two. "Be advised that there exists risks of exposure if the shaft's internal valves are not opened in time."

"Understood. Legion," he looks over to the Geth, seeing its turning optical light focus on him and its head shielding expand before dropping back. "You don't have the restrictions like an organic. You're exposure tolerance level is higher than anyone else on this ship and you can hack faster than an organic mind. I'm sending you into the shaft."

It nods, face plates slightly shifting. "Affirmative." Garrus tries to ignore, but still catches, the released breath of relief from Tali at not having to go, knowing her views on both tiny vents and the added danger of overheating inside her already stifling suit.

"You need someone to lead the second team." Lawson steps up. "I will do it while you take the first."

Jack scoffs. "Calm your fucking tits, Cheerleader. I won't take orders from _you_."

"Good," Garrus snaps, turning a growl to the woman and at least gaining a bit of slack to the biotic's heavy scowl. "Because you, Grunt, and McKnight are with me. He'll use his Collector knowledge to get those valves open while we lay down covering fire. The rest of you are with Miranda." The raven haired woman's eyes actually blink and widen a fraction at that, perhaps not expecting the two to find a neutral ground in the possible last moments of their lives. She quickly recovers and gives a nod in understanding as he looks over the group.

"You want to expend your rage, expel your fears? Then use it as a weapon." _Like I sure as hell will._ "This is not a game, no longer can we simply slap medigel on our wounds and retreat to the Normandy. We are the only things between life and death. Falter in any way, and die by Collector's hands."

Snarling with a toss of his head, he hits the table with his bad fist again. "Those bastards think we are nothing without Jane, but they are wrong," he growls. "They will learn what happens when Archangel brings justice." He smirks when the others let out shouts or silent gestures of their own battle calls as they rush out to get any last prep, which he's surprised to see only turns out to be a last few raids of the thermal clips stashes.

Giving the order for the second team, _Scutum_ , to move out through the Cargo Bay, he takes his team, _Hastati_ , and heads out through the airlock with Legion, all of them dropping from the near wreckage of their ship and into the surface of metal embedded into rock that must be a marker of common Collector structures. _Like an insect colony, Mordin once said._

The Geth quickly separates and climbs up one of the mounds in the ship to disappear into the small ventilation access. A quick nod to his team and they are on their own way, guns at the ready and moving quickly.

As he assumed, they are bombarded by a Collector 'welcoming party' mere moments before gaining ground into the station, and his plan to draw fire while Knight moves forward was a good one as Legion moves fast through the ventilation, the heat more of a concern the longer it is still than expected. If he had the time, Garrus would consider the decision to use the Geth over Tali a good one with how much of a liability her suit would have been in this situation, but he's currently sighting down his scope, having to pay careful attention between the unpredictable charges and biotic blasts of his two squadmates to time his shots accurately.

"Garrus, we are in position at the doors. Holding against heavy fire."

"Understood, Miranda." He cuts his response short as he lines the crosshair of his scope right between the upper eyes of the glowing abomination that spouts challenges to their abilities with insults of his kind being too primitive, Grunt's being useless as infertile, and Jack being too irradiated with Eezo to be a 'viable subject'. A twitch of the finger and 'Harbinger' falls to a burning inferno of charring and crumbling ash.

"McKnight, Legion," he barks over his comm as he switches the drained sink with another, hopping one of the jutting walls that provide cover, leading forward. "Move faster. _Scutum_ is cornered against their door." He gives the hand signal that means his six group up to him and his front move forward, providing that the three of them will continue to defend the human Collector tech expert while he solely focuses on granted Legion open movement.

"Understood, boss. Moving forward." Garrus gives a set of hand signals that call those at his six to group up and his front move forward, providing that the three of them behind will continue to defend the human Collector tech expert while he solely focuses on granted Legion open movement.

Cavernous chamber after cavernous chamber, they make their way through enemy forces as fast as they can manage, trying to prevent major losses in the other squad. Finally, across a long catwalk that spans precariously over a vast drop lies the biggest door command console he's ever seen, McKnight desperately trying to lay down covering fire as he tries to get the door open yell into the radio.

"Hurry! Just a few more meters and we're there!" Garrus knows he really means the three of them strangling behind, the human male already as close as one can come to the immovable force that is a solid, _closed_ door.

"Move!" he snaps at those at his back, switching to his mate's shotgun resting on his lower spine and spins to start retreating as he fires into the swarming Collector forces. That sensation of nowhere left to go comes all too soon as he feels the presence of that very door less a meter behind his back and, never one to appreciate being pinned, he growls as he fires the shotgun in his hand rapidly, snarling at the man over his shoulder. "Get the fucking door open!"

"I'm trying!" he screams in panicked agitation, hands moving over the commands rapidly, murmuring to himself about corrupted data, blocked pathways until, with a snap as if the inanimate object could feel the sensation of being burned, the heavy doors slide open to gunfire and shots from _Scutum._

Shoving, Jack in behind Grunt and ignoring her bark of protest, Garrus lays suppressing fire as he backs towards the sounds of the gunfire he's used to, the booms of metal projectiles propelled by miniature mass accelerators instead of the high pitched buzzing from the Collector's laser weaponry. Something is wrong, however, when he doesn't see the doors closing at the same speed they burst open and he has a split moment to wonder if they will only get this far before an either stubborn or jammed door mechanism condemns them to an endless barrage of enemy fire.

"Lay down cover fire!" His team is surrounded by that of Lawson's, their weapons firing into the sea of glowing eyes and fluttering wings before the doors finally manage to slam shut right before him, centimeters from almost removing a toe or two - and he only _has_ four.

He hears what seems like a unison sigh of relief as guns drop, weighing as much as a Frigate in their hands now that the adrenaline is draining, their hearts slowing. Garrus, however, doesn't have that luxury, not while they are still deep inside a hive of Collectors that now _know_ of their presence.

Shielded from immediate danger by a massive metal door, he takes a moment to replace his wife's 'boomstick' and retrieve his own rifle, hands more accustomed and suited to the heavy weapon. He turns to see just what kind of chamber they have found themselves in when he sees a very familiar sight, long, seemingly endless expanses of millions upon millions of pods used to transport and contain and poor fool unlucky enough to have fallen victim to the swarm.

There is a difference between here and the ship the destroyed, though. The ship was obviously a mere transport, the pods haphazardly secured along the cavern in order to maintain basic functions like life support and security from damage due to flight, but here? Here the pods are mostly aligned one on top of the other within metal structures, each pod connected to the others in a tangle of tubing, almost like an older and less advanced design of the same from inside the Reaper, that stretch up the the top of the cavern and disappear into the distance.

 _So our guess that the central chamber holds the colonists was right, it seems_ , he thinks as he tries, fruitlessly and foolishly, to see if he can find the only face he wants, _needs_ , to see in the see of masked faces. He knows, even if he wants to be blind and stupidly naïve for just once in his life, that he would never find her from here, that his chances are slim to none of her even being within his reach, but he still has to try. _Even if it kills me to find her or becomes the death of me with I've discovered I've lost her._

A shift in the air and scent beside him makes him aware of a visitor, someone slightly spicy with a hint of soil - Drell. "Is this how it was before," the younger of the ship's Drell occupants asks, Ilden's eyes scanning over the countless golden slivers of light that stretch far beyond the eyes' reach. "This is horrendous."

Garrus moves to speak, to remind the younger man that they have friends - _bondmates_ \- somewhere out there, but is interrupted when his attention catches the shift in the squad's expression and cautious searching to a hurried, frantic flailing against the opaque surfaces of the pods.

With his mind screaming for action and his chest vibrating with a trilling rumbling of worry, he rushes to join them, seeing the missing crew awake and banging fists in panic and abject horror. The squad uses feet, hands, and weapons to try from their side, screaming something about needing them out before they 'melt' and, while he doesn't quite know what that means, Jane could be in danger.

Growling and keening, he hooks his talons, then fingers, under the edges of one of the pods and pulls, arms aching from the strain, and finally hear a creaking then shatter of thick glass as it comes apart in his hands. A noxious gas follows, making it hard to see the occupant until he hears a voice coughing and gasping that's familiar, but not the one he so desperately wants and needs to hear.

Hiding his shameful disappointment at saving the wrong person, he helps Doctor Chakwas from the pod, all the while his eyes searching frantically for his wife, but finds no hint of her and his blood runs cold enough to burn in his heart. "Where is she?" He grips the doctor's shoulders and stares desperately into her half conscious eyes. "Where is Jane?!"

"Wh…" the poor woman says with a mumble as her head drops and lifts on her neck a few times before her eyes start to focus. "G...Garrus? You… you came…"

 _I came for_ _ **her**_ _…_ He can't stop the constantly twitching of his mandibles and barely contained keen scratching at his throat –trying hard not to shake the woman in his hold - as he practically pleads, "Jane… where is Jane? Please…" _Please don't say she's been 'melted', is the source of that smell that brings back memories of the Citadel's protein vats._

He hopes that, when she shakes her head weakly, it's not to give the devastating news that will end him once and for all and is, instead, as if she has heard his innermost fears, is reassuring him that _she_ is okay.

"I don't know… they took Shepard," she points weakly further into the chamber, the ship, "the one said she was meant for more or something…"

"Sounds like the one calling itself Harbinger," Jacob says and Garrus just nods, at a loss for words at being so close, yet so far. "What were they _doing_ here?"

Tired, but more herself, Chakwas looks up to the tube structures up along the walls and ceilings. "They were… processing the colonists. These pods have some sort of chemical compound that eats away organic material _while they're still alive_. They… pump the remains through these pipelines."

Kelly Chambers whimpers and gasps a dry sob, frowning and trembling as she clenches her eyes shut. "They made us be aware! Wanted us awake when they… When they… I was… I was…"

_Now isn't the time for this. If Jane's here, time is of the essence!_

"EDI" he interrupts with a hand to his Tool, cutting off the woman's dry tears. "I need an updated scan of the base. I need to know where these tubes lead and how to get to there."

"There is a route currently inaccessible due to a security door that cannot be reached as those you recently released. However, my readings indicate there is another chamber running parallel to your current location."

"I sense a fucking 'but'," Jack grumbles around her CaloBar, her only way to help boost back her biotics to a level where she's useful beyond her less than average 'spray and pray' method of shooting.

"You are correct," EDI confirms. "While accessible, it is not advised. Thermal emissions suggest the chamber is overrun with seeker swarms. It is possible that the Collectors have adjusted their targeting parameters to include nonhuman targets and Mordin and McKnight's countermeasure cannot protect you against so many at once."

"Wonderful," he deadpans with an annoyed rumble. "Wait. On Horizon, the swarms acted differently whenever Jane charged, almost as if avoiding her. I never thought about it at the time…" _Maybe the radiation emissions affect their targeting?_

He looks to Samara - not their strongest, but definitely most refined, biotic - and asks, "Can you project some sort of biotic shield over a squad?"

The Matriarch nods. "It is possible to produce a biotic barrier large enough to protect a small squad if they remain close."

"Jack and Legion are with me while we take the swarm infested path. Miranda will lead the rest of you create as you diversion and make your way through the main chamber. When we get the security doors open, we'll provide covering fire." Those not already at the ready start to prep their chosen weapons.

"What about us, Garrus?" He looks to a much better looking Chakwas, though many of the ship's crew are still hanging on another for support or hunched over in some sort of pain or exhaustion from their ordeal. "Those of us who even can fight are in no condition."

Mandible flicking in a sign of frustrated impatience he's sure only a few privy to Turian expressions would catch and understand, he contacts the Normandy. "How are our systems?"

"EDI got enough systems online to do a pickup, but there's no way we can make it that deep into the central chamber to your position with what we have." Obviously unnerved by the rumbling sigh that, for once, isn't directed towards any individual, but the situation, Joker adjusts. "But we can get back up quickly and get you guys out of there when it starts to hit the fan."

He closes the call and addresses the Normandy crew. "Mordin will escort you, assist with starting triage and prepping the ship for our escape. Move before the start to regroup in response to our advance."

Mordin gives a terse nod as he and the slow moving crew begin to back track along the main chamber towards the coordinates Joker had sent of the further, so far, the Normandy can make it into the Collector base. Garrus can only hope that they won't have to backtrack further to get out of here or none of the ground crew will make it once the EMP charge is set.

Traversing the tunnel swarming in the Collector's weaponized, synthetic-organic hybrid swarm was as difficult as he expected. Strange and definitely a good reason to explain why both Tali and Jane have come to hate insects, but not difficult in terms of combat. He's sure Samara, judging by her state of exhaustion and inhalation of nearly every calorie and protein bar she has, would disagree upon the level of difficulty.

All of them would also attest to the harrowing moment of practically carrying the Asari as they rushed over the bridge. Then there was the massive firefight between the full team at the horde beyond the door back in the main chamber as Legion rushed to relock the access and provide them a barrier for a time.

He also can't dismiss the obvious assistance they received from the diversion team. He'd be admittedly oblivious if he said he doubted that's why the opposition was so light within the swarm's passage.

"Status report." He addresses Miranda as the team recoups in the short moments of lax in enemy presence and he checks the wound in his waist from a stray shot that made it through while they held the line as Legion hacked the doors closed. It seems to just be a flesh wound, sore but bleeding stopping easily with a single dose of medigel and another shot of Rebound. _Not that it would stop me. Not even another rocket to the face will keep me down while Jane's still out there somewhere._

"Joker just commed in, Mordin and the crew have arrived at the rendezvous." Nodding in understanding, he doesn't speak as she opens her tool to continue. "We're almost to the main console. There are platforms here." She looks at her tool and then up, pointing to a familiar risen platform further along the chamber, just like the Collector ship from before. "We should be able to take it up and overload the systems-"

"And destroy the base," he hums, worried that they have come this far and have still not found a trace of his beloved mate. _I will_ _ **not**_ _give up… even if I have to stay behind and destroy this place on my own with my own hands and talons. I will find you, Jane._

Shaking it off, now not the time, he turns to the woman. "We are fighting on the Collector's turf, they have the home field advantage and Legion's work on the doors aren't going to hold for long. A rearguard will hold this position." He rumbles in thought before moving to the platform and stepping up, attracting the entire group's attention. "This is where some of us must continue while the others keep the Collectors from overwhelming us. Jack? How are your biotics?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean," she growls and he flicks a mandible. _There's my answer._

"You will be with me as well as Legion and Grunt." The other two give a simultaneous grin of excitement and brusque nod in affirmative. "The rest will remain here and hold." Looking around at the faces of people he may or may not see through to the end, whatever that may be in terms of all of their shortening lifespans, he rumbles and squares his shoulders as he speaks.

"Now is the time to stand together and give them hell. We are only as good as our parts, our weakest and we are the best this galaxy has to offer, so even our weakest is more than these Reaper-controlled horrors. It may take us all, but we _will_ make sure these bastards go down, dragging every last one of them with us if death takes us."

Growling, he adds, needing to look after his wife's family when he brings her back to them – even if he doubts he'll be able to completely accomplish that, "Stand together, do you hear me? No matter what, we are a big, mix-matched, dysfunctional family. Us your affection and hate as fuel equally."

He takes a breath and speaks against everything ever taught to him in the military, never one to be a good Turian when common logic just seemed so much more appealing. "Rely on each other and don't stop shooting until we end this. Then you get to the Normandy, even if you have to drag yourself or someone else to get there." His eyes scan the group, locking on each set of eyes to speak to each and every individual that makes the whole. "When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't crawl, then you find someone to carry you. We are in this together."

"Damn… quite the fucking speech." Jack actually looks impressed as the others begin to arm their weapons. "You sound almost like your old lady."

"Learned from the best," he remarks offhandedly as he motions Legion to activate the platform.

They soon begin to face opposition from flanking platforms and he begins to notice something. If the desperation that seems to bleed from the one calling itself Harbinger is telling, it's that they are drawing near to something very vital. He doubts that a creature that supposedly can possess Collectors at a whim without fear of death is fearful of the EMP and hopes, prays to Spirits he doesn't believe in, that there is only one reason it'd be worried about their progression.

Jane is here and she's _alive_.

"Garrus Vakarian, this platform seems to be drawing near to the completion of its projected path."

He pulls the trigger on his rifle, the Scion before him exploding in a mess of cybernetics and gore as they feel the lift shift from its forward momentum to upward. "Understood."

"Hey, Garrus," he grunts in 'what?' while keeping his eye to the scope and taking out a Collector drone. "Looks like we're following those fucking tubes."

A husk, the last hostile remaining after Legion drops the remaining Collector drone opposite to Garrus' own target, giving him a chance to follow the biotic's eyes up along the direction their platform is rising, into a larger chamber. "EDI, what do your scans tell us about these tubes? Why are they breaking down organic tissues and pumping it through them?"

"While I cannot theorize the reason, my scans show that they are feeding into some kind of super-structure. It is emitting both organic and non-organic energy signatures. Judging by these readings, the structure must be massive in size." The shadow of the tunnel the platform is taking before the massive chamber begins to brighten from some sort of blue glow in the main chamber. "If my calculations are correct, the super-structure… is a Reaper." Just as EDI announces that very disturbing estimation, they enter the chamber, and what they see makes his blood run cold.

Seemingly suspended from the feeding tubes is what can only be described as a misshaped, curled up, human being of massive size. Its limbs are fused to its body from where they are curled up against its torso, hands up against its chest and chin and legs pulled into a fetal position and all much smaller in proportion to its large body and head. Along its entire body are the glowing fissures of cybernetics as it 'breathes' and shifts slightly in the hold of its cocoon.

"Holy shit… It's a fucking baby," Jack says with wide, shocked eyes, her mouth falling open, but Garrus can't do anything but look around for his wife, keening at no sign of her.

EDI announces something, but it goes unheard as his hands grip his weapon so tightly his broken hand sears with the stabbing pain of broken plate and fractured bone. "Where," he growls, voice mostly vocals from his burning rage. "Where is Jane's bio signature?" _I can't leave without her, even if…_

He can't force himself to admit it as a possibility, especially to himself, and, thankfully, he doesn't have to as EDI answers, "Shepard's last known location was within this chamber. I cannot determine its whereabouts at this moment."

 _Harbinger took my life from me, so I will take this_ _ **thing**_ _from it._ He snarls as he hear the subtle creak of his gloves against his weapon, his fingers numb from the amount of pressure he's putting against the immovable rifle. "EDI, how the fuck do I destroy this… this-"

"Fucking piece of shit?"

"To put it lightly," he growls, barely recognizable even to himself.

"The organic fluid from the processed colonist are being injected through the structures holding the Reaper suspended. Destroying them should damage the structural integrity of the supports, causing the Reaper to fall."

Motioning to the others to take care of the Collectors and husks simultaneous flying and crawling onto the adjacent platforms, he doesn't even bother to find cover as he places his rifle onto his back, replacing it with the Cain, his wife's favorite weapons besides her shotgun, fists, and boots.

Reality seems to narrow down to just him, the abomination before him, and the nuclear weapon that can destroy one and, unfortunately, never bring complete absolution to the other. Raising the weapon with a low growl, Archangel spreads his wings as his finger compresses the trigger, hearing the whining and the light scrap of metal moving against metal.

The recoil against his shoulder that pushed him back a few paces and reverberates through his entire body is the best pain he will ever feel, not strong enough to ever overcome the one in his heart, but enough to make him smirk when the glowing ball of energy lands. Feeding tubes shatter in a shower of glass and flesh and he smirks with a growl of sweet victory as the brown, foul smelling sludge spews over the monstrosity.

A loud shriek fills the chamber, ringing in their ears and skulls to the point that they surely must be bleeding inside their helmets, but it's like music to his ears. It will never beat the sound of _her_ voice, her laughter or breathless moans, but it is a close second. Especially when it begins to writhe, its fused and once believed immobile limbs pulling taut against the membranes holding it begins to undulate and things within it start to press outward, trying to break through.

Prepping the Cain for one more shot, one that may not be as strong but will still break the last remaining supports, he sends an elbow into a husk trying to jump him from behind, sending it into the way of Grunt's shotgun fire. He won't bother with the useless enemies like the Reaper mutated human or Prothean remains, not when there is a much more worthy target for his fury, a target he will watch crash to the pit of this ship by his hand and his alone.

So, once again, he braces his footing and lifts the Cain, pulling the trigger and hearing it charge. He will always remember the writhing of pain, as if an entity exists within the fragile infant of a Reaper that desperately wants out, and will always take a sick sort of amusement at seeing a Reaper show true fear of death, cry out in agony.

Releasing the trigger releases the last of the Cain's power, completely destroying the supports to the thrashing flesh and cybernetics and sending it crashing down before them with a ground-shaking, thunderous crash and inorganic scream, it's bloated and moving flesh ripping to burst that same fluid over the platforms beneath it and reveal some sort of skeleton that better resembles its Reaper heritage. He hums with a sneer of satisfaction and motions the others to stay alert and follow, not knowing why, but needing to see the Reaper as it takes its last metaphorical breaths.

It takes some time to safely travel over the descending platforms to the disgusting mass of flesh and limbs from within it that look like the struts Sovereign had when it attached itself to the Citadel, but they make it just as its movements are slowing and growing weak. He growls a snarl as his hands twitch and tighten on the spent Cain, wishing he could destroy it completely and wipe every trace of it away, all the while screaming his lungs out for his lost love, his stolen bondmate.

His thoughts must have made it to his limbs without his control, when it seems like he's standing outside his body as the weapon drops from his hands and he howls in agony, lungs and throat burning as he screams and keens beyond his control. He can feel sanity cracking and shattering within him as he grips his helmeted head in his hands, collapsing to his knees as everything drains from him, leaving him to join her, wherever she may be, and sucking his soul out with it.

His screams of her name must scare the others away from him and freeze them in place, none of them moving to the hysterical Turian or safety as the mass of horrors moves, curling up as it starts to make a gurgling, pseudo-choking noise. It snaps him enough out of his agony to flare his rage as he snaps his head up, ready to just waste his life using teeth and talons to rip every scrap of stolen flesh from it, but his pupils dilate to focus as its head jerks, spewing something from its 'mouth'.

 _It can't be_ , he thinks with a gasp and jump to his feet, stumbling as his numb body sparks to life and he runs. The closer he gets, the less impossible it becomes that yes, she's _alive, fucking alive!_

"Jane!" he howls as he collapses beside her, ripping his helmet off and yanks her limb body off the floor, pulling her to his chest as he keens loud enough that the others actually wince. "Please, Jane… Amora…," he chirps and trills around his crying like a scared child as he rubs his cheek against hers despite the foul smelling fluid all over her, clenching his eyes against the tears he can only imagine he could physically shed when he actually is able to hear her soft breaths. "Never again… Please… I love you."

"I love you too," a soft whisper responds and he gasps, pulling back to see her weak smirk. "Knew you'd come."

He barks an exhausted, euphoric laugh. "I had good reason." Pressing his forehead to hers, he purrs jaggedly, promising without words to never abandon her before he kissed her, shoving his tongue past unresisting lips as he keens in relief at tasting her when he thought he never would again in this life.


	54. Chapter 54

-Jane-

The seat she's sitting on is lumpy and smells of dust and years of disuse and neglect, but, then again, most of this place does as she looks around. She's in some building, a medical facility if the occasional stretcher, wheelchair, and IV stand are anything to go by, but everything shows heavy signs of being left to the elements.

The paint on the walls is peeling, the tiles of the floor cracked, and the papers scattered over the nurse's station are yellowed and turned brittle, the words – not that she could even read them in this place – are faded away by time. All of the half decayed medical equipment and furniture in this hall are covered in dust and cobwebs long since evacuated and abandoned and, as far as she can see, there is a thick fog rolling over the broken tiles and stretching into whatever rooms no longer defended by doors or, in this world's case, concrete walls.

She stands from the bench she had found herself on when she woke, an uncomfortable, dirty thing that would be infested with bugs if not for the fact that nothing lives here but monsters and nightmares. Looking both directions down the halls leading one to her right and the other directly in front of her, she decides to just walk. Odds are she won't get far before finding herself back her.

As her feet echo softly in the still, foggy aid within this hospital floor, she doesn't bother to read the signs of directions along the walls or board of handwriting that charts duties, they'd all be a jumble of illegible words and symbols anyways.

Instead, she focuses on what's missing, what is giving her this sense of eerie dread and confusion. It takes her at least two passes by the same nurse's station - these halls a loop just as she figured - before she realizes what it is.

She doesn't hear the moans of the dead and lost, the pained groans of the things that look like humans eternally frozen in a scream.

"I know you're here… you always are," she calls out as she makes a slow spin to examine her entire surroundings. The movement causes a slight stir in the fog around her shins, but the living mist corrects quickly. "You might as well show up because I don't have all fucking day." _I need to be somewhere, do something. I just can't remember what the hell that feeling even means._

With still no answer, she sighs and runs her hands through her hair, leaning back against the wall. This place is filled with nothing but a sense of complete isolation, a hell not of brimstone and flames, but the cold nothingness of uselessness.

The first is something she feels she could face, but this? She doesn't know how to fight something she feels so utterly helpless to control that she feels like screaming in frustration and ripping at her red curls until there's nothing left.

Just when she thinks she has no choice but to sit, stubbornly, for the shambling human creatures to come and find her - _like fucking hell I'll make the conscious effort to get myself killed … or whatever the fuck happens to me here_ \- she hears something.

This something is different, she'd be able to place the approach of those things anywhere, and she can't make it out from her position, but won't dare break her final act of defiance for the sake of curiosity. That _was_ how they've gotten her every other time before.

The noise draws closer and begins to cut through the fog, with its otherworldly ability to mask sound and image, revealing the sound of footsteps. Something about them is different, though. She can't get through the heaviness in her head to pinpoint what seems so unique from the sound echoing off the walls as it draws closer. It doesn't matter because with the louder it becomes, the closer to cutting through the fog it gets.

Yet, when she stands to get a look at her very potential attacker to at least have a head on encounter to her death, nothing comes through the white and gray. _Abso-fucking-lutely nothing._

The footsteps without a face, without any source at all, comes directly to her, not stopping even as she can't stop the slightly wince of expectation, and stops. _Wait…_

Looking up, she is met with nothing but the empty hospital floor and rolling white. To say she's even more confused is an understatement as she looks around, turning to see if this is a case of being attacked from behind, but there is nothing.

That is, until a warmth wraps around her wrist. Her first reaction would be to jerk her hand away and throw a fist at whoever had the balls to try and pull something like that on her, but something about the touch, if it could be called such, that makes her stop with her knee-jerk reaction.

The touch is calming, not threatening, but perhaps projecting a sense of urgency as it seems to pull her to turn. She does and, finding no one, is about to write it off at the damn environment when she feels the same warm on her, this time beside her, radiating a sort of strength and safety as if there were a living being right here, in this lonely, nightmare of a place.

"What… who…," She shakes her head to try and be coherent, wondering if this warmth can understand. "Are you real? Or a figment of my imagination?" _As if whatever the answer would make this any more comforting._

At the thought of comfort, the warmth wraps around her wrist again and steadily, but not painfully so, pulls at her, attempting to coax her forward.

She snorts derisively. "Yeah, that's not going to go anywhere. We'll just end up back here in about two minutes."

Despite her doubts, the force on her wrist persists and she still refuses to budge. She even has a mind to yank her hand away when she feels it, a second warm and soothing presence. Only it lays upon her back, pushing gently on each shoulder blade.

The combined forces' urgings seem to convince her, if only reluctantly, and she starts to move, following these things' lead. She doesn't know what it is, but the air around her, projected by the warmths, seems to turn into a sort of joy from the success and she can't suppress the chuckle. _Whatever these things are, they seem easily pleased_.

It's at that thought that she hears it, a loud, piercing scream, like an infant's only something is off, as if artificial, unnatural. She can't focus on the intricacies for too long before those forces around her become more insistent, yanking and shoving at her to _go, move! Before it's too late!_

Running now, not knowing why, she desperately tries to outrun the migraine inducing wails, following the pull of two entities that may very well be out to kill her, fool her into a false sense of comradery and security.

She stumbles on the threshold of a new room she hadn't found on her previous laps around the endless hall. Looking around reveals it as some sort of hydrotherapy room, large basins lining the walls and filled with stomach churning sludge the color of mud laced with thick tar.

"Real great place to trap me in, you two," she calls over the loud, and drawing closer, screams.

The warmth is back, pulling forward, but with an air of apology. Even as disembodied heat signatures, she can tell when a touch is from something -or something - that is both hesitant to act and completely sure that what must be done is the right choice. Her only disadvantage is what that thing that needs to be done is.

"Holy shit," she gasps out as she's being pulled to a tub. "Nonono… fuck you! You fucking faceless cowards! Face me if you're going to kill me!"

She doesn't know how she knows, but she can swear that the warmths flinch at her insults, projecting comfort and assurance as they continue to drag her. Catching herself with her hands on the edge of the basin, she fights against the weights on her back, trying to push her into it.

As she grits her teeth, muscles in her arms straining and ears most likely bleeding from the never ending screams that have just become ringing in her ears, she senses something she isn't sure isn't just some hallucination. The energies soothe her, almost as if putting words into her head, saying things like 'don't worry', 'it will not hurt', 'it will save you', 'return home', 'you don't belong here'.

With nothing left to give, her only fight draining quickly, she takes a deep breath in defeat and gives in. Whether she drowns or is devoured by whatever horror is banging against the metal barrier - _wait, wasn't there no door to this room before?_ \- makes no difference because, either way, she will 'die'.

All she can hope is that she receives whatever aftermath she had all the times before as her head falls into the sludge, filling her lungs and muffling the wails until there is nothing but the silence of darkness.

* * *

 

_"_ _Please…I love you."_

She knows that voice, that distraught subvocal of need, and knows who the arms wrapped around her belong to. She loves this stupidly crazy Turian for coming after her and, she knows, ripping apart this entire Collector station in his path. _I knew the Broker was talking out of his ass with his 'lack for potential growth' bull-spiel._

"I love you too." _You fucking insane, adorable son of a bitch gasping in shock as if I wouldn't stick around waiting for your sorry ass to hurry up and get here._ She smirks as best as she can with the exhaustion in her very bones, looking into his beautiful blue eyes as she says weakly, "Knew you'd come."

He laughs, only once, and even in her state, she can hear the relief in that one sound. She knows this hadn't have been easy, going it alone with no idea what her state was – _pretty damn sore, not that I think about it. Got to remember not to try to fight off Collectors with my fists when they have those fucking exoskeletons_ – and having to keep it together in order to lead a massive team such as the one they put together.

"I had good reason," he responds softly, nearly a whisper, as he presses his forehead to hers so that she knows the touch is more to try and glue together the pieces that must have broken off with the Normandy attack. Purring with trembling breaths, he tilts his head as kisses her, not caring about the shit all over her or its disgusting taste as he forces her to take his tongue with a keening.

She knows this isn't the time, but fucking dammit, she thought she'd never see him again – and she'd be stupid to deny the same goes for him – so the universe better fucking believe that they won't give two shits for how it must look, the two of them trying to devour the other with a sloppy, moaning battle of their tongues.

A clearing of a throat makes him growl in frustration as he, reluctantly, pulls his tongue from her. Using his glove, he wipes some of the sludge that's on her face for some reason, cleaning around her eyes, nose, and mouth, then does the same for himself. Next, despite her very loud exclamation that she's 'not a fucking invalid, you fucking Turian shit!' he picks her up, arm under her knees and across her back.

If she were in a state where she wasn't sure she'd collapse the moment she put weight on her feet, she'd put up more of a fight, kick, scream, and damn him all to hell and back, but she knows she's slower without his aid. Plus, part of her _really_ likes the constant, comforting position of being curled up in his arms.

Only problem besides his unyielding armor against her cold and wet undersuit is the fact that they are completely surrounded by the home of the Collectors, themselves, most likely soon to be fighting for their lives. _Got to enjoy the little things, at least._

"Jack, get a status update from _Scutum._ " _And damn if I won't just sit back and let him command. He's definitely got this under control without me needing a debrief mid-mission, extraction… whatever the hell this is._

"They're getting fucking overrun back there."

She hears him hum in acknowledgement as he shifts to tap his visor before ordering, " _Scutum_ , retreat to the Normandy and Joker? Prep the damn engines. We're overloading this fucking place." Snorting, she shakes her head at the thought that she could be rubbing off on him.

He walks further up the stairsteps of platforms, the others' footsteps following him. "Legion, find an access to the main systems." Stopping, Garrus looks down to her as he sets her down while keeping an arm around her for support. "Open up my tool," he holds his free arm to her, "And open up a comm link to the ship. You need to hear this."

"Why do you always make me hear the bad news?" She gets a snort from him at that and an impatient arm wave before she opens it, getting to hear half the message coming in from the pilot.

"-signal from the Illusive Man. EDI's patching it through."

"See? Why do you never let me hear that music on your visor… instead I get _him_ first thing."

"Shepard," she sighs at the very familiar voice that – _could technically_ – be a good precursor to this and every other shitty predicament they find themselves in. "I am happy to see Vakarian's mission in finding you was a success."

"We aren't even done," he growls back to the image from Jack's tool. "This entire base is about to be history."

"That may not be necessary, Shepard." That extra emphasis on her name over her husband's makes her audibly breathe out a long breath. "I'm looking at the schematics EDI uploaded. A timed radiation pulse would kill the remaining Collectors, but leave the machinery and technology intact. This is our chance, Shepard. They were building a Reaper. That knowledge, that framework, could save us."

She looks to her mate in silent 'may I?' and smirks at his nod, turning to the hologram. "Despite the fact that _I'm_ not the one you should be, unsuccessfully, trying to convince, I'll go ahead and answer. Shove your 'chance' up your fucking, pompous lily white ass. This place is getting blown to hell and the Collectors along with it as soon as Legion presses the big read button with his middle fucking finger."

"Shepard-Commander, this unit does not-"

"Semantics," Garrus interrupts with a low growl as his eyes never leave the projected eyes of the Illusive Man. "You aren't getting this base."

"I had never taken the two of you to be so short-sighted. Our best chance against the Reapers is to turn their own resources against them."

"Their 'resources'? Have you learned nothing?" her husband snaps. "Your own people were indoctrinated from being on _a derelict, dead Reaper_. There is no using their own technology against them.

"Have _you_ not learned anything from your time aboard the Normandy?" That gets a snarl from the Turian holding her up on gradually strengthening legs. "The Collectors aren't indoctrinated, they are engineered to be loyal to the Reapers. This station does not have enough Reaper presence to affect any crews we can send to possibly find information on the Reapers, themselves? This base is a blessing in disguise, Shepard. You just have to think of the good it will bring, the lives saved with it and the ones who will be lost because you cannot put aside your differences and listen to reason."

Not needing an okay, Jack cuts in. "A fucking blessing to Cerberus so you all can fuck us up the ass… probably make your own fucking freak Reaper."

"Nicely put, Jack." With a smirk and nod at her in agreement, her mate rumbles against her side as he straightens up completely to his imposing height towering over nearly everyone on the ship and focuses on the Illusive Prick. "You are and have always been insane and the only thing that made you useful was your half-accurate knowledge, but we don't need you anymore. And we certainly don't owe you the potential to unleash more horrors on the galaxy than what we already have coming from dark space."

"Shepard," blue cybernetic eyes look to her, and it's almost as if she can feel the weight from the actual man through the shaky image. "You died fighting this threat." The hand on her waist tightens with a low snarl against her ribs. "I brought you back so you could keep fighting, but you are so willingly to listen to Vakarian. What will his kind do for humanity when the Reapers come? When the galaxy so easily discards you? Don't become blinded by your infatuation with rebellion by joining yourself to humanity's last great enemy."

Shocked at the new insult – _rebellion? Really? What am I, fifteen?_ – she blinks and is stunned for a moment before a deep scowl pulls at her brows, her anger matching the Turian at her side. " _Excuse me?_ " She pulls from the arm holding her, legs' strength still questionable, but like hell she'll slouch for this. "You've insulted me and mine for the last fucking time. This station is going down and you? You better hope I never find you because, when I do, I just shove those cigarettes and that glass of liquor so far down your throat you'll spit fire out your fucking asshole. Legion, blow this fucking place."

"Affirmative, Shepard-Commander. Ten minutes before the reactor meltdown destroys this station's integrity." The Geth stands as the pillar it was accessing lowers back into the floor with a hiss, the entire base shuddering.

Too strained from whatever stasis she was in, the floor's bucking sends her to her knees. Or, it would have if a hand doesn't catch her arm and pull her back up against her husband. "That was fucking fast, Legion."

"Uh… Shepard?" Looking up to Garrus in confusion at the tone in Grunt's voice, the two turn, she about to ask what's wrong when the words die on her tongue.

The giant mass of… -fuck, _something_ that was obviously being hidden to her by Garrus carrying her - is moving, its flesh bubbling and pulling taught over something beneath the surface. With a loud boom laced with an inorganic mimicry of a scream – _wait, I think I know that sound, but from_ _ **where**_ _?_ – the 'skin' pulls tight against something before ripping open, a black, metal leg slamming down upon a platform as a second tears through the weakened cocoon of useless, dying flesh.

 _It… it's a_ _ **Reaper**_ _…_ She gasps in shock as, slowly and weakly, a very familiar black form stands, tatters of the corpse draped over a body that seems malformed, unfinished. The pointed shape is blunted and sort, the smooth surface it should take over its body jagged, revealing a type of giant eye right halfway up its body embedded in the worst of the unformed plating.

"Holy fuck and shit… What the fuck _is_ that?!" _What the hell did I miss?!_ Still stunned and feeling completely out of her element, she is jerked behind cover with her mate just as the others scramble at a sound very similar to the charging of her Cain a moment before a giant energy blast, red like Sovereign's, flies over their heads.

"Fucking fuck!" she yells, fists shaking from how hard their clenched. If there's one thing she hates over everything else, it's being thrown right in the middle of shit without so much as a shovel or idea how she got there. "Garrus, give me a fucking weapon!"

The loud boom of his rifle sounds before he drops back into cover beside her, eyes narrowed. "No. You're in no condition – and don't even try to fight me on this." As if she'd just drop it, he goes back up to take another shot at the Collectors starting to pour into the cavern amidst blasts from the Reaper.

"Well, I can't just sit here with my thumbs up my ass!" she yells over another ear deafening blast the Reaper throws over their positions. "Give me something, dammit!"

Growling, he shoves his Mattock into her hands. "You will not leave my side," he grabs her ankle when she moves to roll, "and no biotics unless you are Reaving."

"Yes, mother," she deadpans with a mock salute, feeling much better with a weapon in her hands. Peeking from cover, she shoots an incoming husk, taking it down with a headshot.

Garrus purrs and nods. "Nice shot," a register of his rifle as a glowing Collector falls, "But we need to find a weak spot on that _thing_ before it closes on us. Or we all die on this damn station."

"I won't die here after you so nicely came to find me," she snaps as she looks up to it, taking the chance as it preps its shot to try to scope out any weaknesses. "Fuck it, try a shot at its cannon. We might get lucky and it's meant to have some sort of shield there-"

"But it hasn't had a chance to form…" he hums and nods, dropping with her when the blast goes over their heads. "It's the best lead we have." Popping up from his cover, she hears him rumbling in concentration as he lines up, breathes, and fires, the loud, piercing cry she could swear she's heard before echoing through the chamber. Smirking as he turns to her, he confirms, "That hit a sore spot… Everyone, aim for the cannon while it's charging!"

Shouts of confirmation come from both directions where the squad has taken cover and she soon starts to hear the sound of 'pained' cries in tandem with gunfire. Smirking at her mate in 'good work', she too lifts from her cover and begins to fire.

When they have to duck from the retaliating fire, she uses the moment to breathe, her body still sore and weak from however long she's gone without food or medication for whatever the hell is wrong with her body – _at least I'm not puking, surprisingly_ – and reload Garrus' assault rifle with the offered heat sinks. If there are any flanking Collectors, they are dropped easily and before they can become more than a slight distraction while also offering her a few times to boost her energy reserves with an occasional Reave.

Mid-reload, the ground shakes with a loud thump and, before she can question her mate what he can see over the cover at her back, a large shadow rises across the ground before her. Her eyes widen and she is stunned for a moment before her head snaps over her shoulder, seeing the advancement of the Reaper as it starts to come to close to their location for comfort.

"The fucking thing is getting closer!"

She can't agree more with Jack's, obvious, observation as she taps a fist on Garrus' arm and, when he looks to her, giving him the order to move with her. Keeping her head down, she rounds him and rushes to another cover not directly in the line of sight of the advancing Reaper, hearing his heavy armor hit the metal a fraction of a second later.

"Ideas?" Jane asks as she pants from exhaustion, too pumped from adrenaline to be too pissed about her state. After all, she's in the same state as the man who's most likely been filling in the hole in command she left behind and she just sat around on her unconscious ass while he lead her crew through the entire Collector base.

"Besides from the usual? No." He holds his weapon loosely in a hand as he reaches into his armor, stabbing an injector through the undersuit at his belly and grunting at the same time is hisses empty. _So he's still dosing… and more than usual, it seems._

Now's not the time to contemplate his bad habits when she's not really the light of purity, she figures as she smirks in attempt to lessen the fact that this may be their final moments. "So we take this like we do everything? With bullets and gunfire?"

"And you say we never do anything romantic anymore," he smirks back as he raises his weapon over the barrier and begins to lay down repeated, albeit drawn out as he sights properly, fire into the Reaper. "It's weakening."

Encouraged by that thought, she fights through the exhaustion in her bones, the migraine pounding in her temples, and joins him, firing her less accurate shots into the Reaper 'eye'. The sounds of its unhuman howls may very well become her second favorite sound in the galaxy – the first belonging to the man at her side – and she begins to see what he sees, the unsteady steps it takes as it sways, the drapes of flesh swinging like a disgusting shawl draped around it.

What happens next happens so quickly that, for a split moment, it seems like everything is simultaneous. First is the loud boom beside her from Garrus' favorite rifle – the Widow she gave to him on their first tour side-by-side when times were so much simpler. Next is the loud, grinding screech from the Reaper as it falters, the towering monstrosity coming down too close. After that comes the quake from its collapse to the ground. Then that very ground starts to tilt and fall away, sending them tumbling and sliding away from the other.

He reaches for her as she leaves a visible smear of that sludge all over her across the nearly vertical platform as she slides down it. Just when she thinks she is going to go out, again, in the lamest way to die – _really? Falling down a hole? That's worst that space_ – his strong grip clamps around her wrist, his three fingers like a vise.

Mandibles clamped in that sign she knows as his 'fucking stressed out and going to have a heart attack if I so much as sneeze face' look, he pulls her up to the platform with him as the Reaper's corpse breaks through the center of the – apparently delicate - ground of platforms, sending them all tumbling, rolling, and crashing in the entirely different direction. _Great, now I'm going to die to the left instead of the right._

 _At least_ , she thinks, _I will die with him, gripping onto his wrist as he does mine._

She's pretty damn sure she loses consciousness, _again_ , for a few moments, as she comes to to the insistent 'Shepard-Commader' of Legion followed by something else the Geth is trying to get her to hear. However, she's a bit preoccupied by the _new_ pain in her back – the others still there, just now with a companion – and she groans as she opens her eyes to find she's landed on top of her mate, who is also groaning and moving a bit.

"Worst. Rescue. Ever."

He chuckles before groaning. "Please… no with the laughing."

Slowly, and with plenty of help from his hands to sit after his chest plate so rudely tried to break her back, she sits up and hisses when her legs don't budge from under the slab of metal. "I need help up."

Rumbling with a grunt as he climbs from under her, he wastes no time fighting through his daze from getting knocked out and he lifts the metal enough for her to slide out from under it. He looks at her legs before lifting to her eyes, a question in his that he won't voice around the others for fear of letting them onto a potentially dangerous situation.

Smiling despite herself, she shakes her head. "They'll probably be really fucking sore, but I can walk. Help me up," she says as she holds out a hand and gets pulled up almost immediately. True to her words, her legs aren't broken, but, unfortunately, she can already feel the muscles tensing up. She can only hope they won't have far to run to go the hell out of here.

"Grunt, Legion, Jack. Status," Garrus orders as he scans over them. Jack is hunched over, a hand around her waist with blood on her lips, but she's up and scowling – which is definitely a good sign that she's probably fine enough to continue. Grunt, well, looks like Grunt, only with a little bit more scrapes that'll most likely heal before they get out of here.

"Do… copy? Gar…us… Come on… don't leave me hanging, dammit. Do you copy?" Joker's voice grows more urgent the clearer his comm becomes over her mate's still active Tool.

"Joker," he growls – _oh boy, more Joker/Garrus drama. Saw that coming after the attack_ – but actually seems willing to listen as he motions the group to start to move. "What's the ground team's status?"

"There are injuries, but they're all on board… Please told me you found Shepard."

Just as she moves to open her mouth to come up with some smart ass remark, they all hear a tell-tale buzzing from the chamber they had all collapsed in and are slowly putting at their backs. Nearly all of them letting out a 'fuck' in unison – though it was more like Jack and Jane verbally saying it while Garrus made a sharp growl and Grunt a groan of annoyed frustration – they start to run.

No longer the time for weapons, and actually at an advantage without armor, she can keep up with her husband when he's almost at his full speed. She knows he's still limiting himself for her short and stubby legs, but now's not the time to be angry with his coddling her as they all sprint for the exit behind and beside him. Their Collector tail is ignored – _they'll get theirs all right_ – as they draw closer to an open chamber, the Normandy drifting just within sight.

Her legs scream in agony as she must run up an incline, her bruised and battered limbs making her stumble and curse as she falls behind him, then the, soon, starting to fall behind the others. She's sure Garrus notices, as he stops in his tracks, ignoring the others running past him and Joker's appearance hanging out the airlock as he fires uncontrollably into the oncoming Collectors.

No, she is his sole focus, not the ship within reach or the blood seeping from his waist, from somewhere on his arm and another hidden under his leg armor. Rushing to her, he grabs her and throws her over his shoulder, making her yelp in surprise and indignation.

She can't protest when he snarls and starts to sprint at his full speed, easily catching up and practically tossing her on between Grunt and Legion. He stops for Jack as he, like an amazing commander, urges her on, nearly shoving her as the station starts to collapse around them, causing the gap to grow between ship and ledge.

When Jack jumps on, Jane can see there is too much distance, he needs a running start, and she nearly jumps after him when he starts to back up to do just that. Eyes wide and locking onto his, she gets up. She may never be able to catch his weight, but if he goes, she is damn sure she'll go with him, hand in hand if fate deems it.

As he jumps, his mandibles clenched tight to his chin, it's obvious to them both that there is too much space between them. It becomes fact when his chest hits the platform of the air lock with a heavy thump and pained grunt, but she's right there, grabbing his hand firmly and using all her weight plus the bending of her knees to lower her center of gravity, she hauls him up just as the Normandy rises and airlock closes.

With EDI overriding the airlock procedures, they rush into the Cockpit behind Joker as the countdown start into the single digits. She watches, a time like this when a soldier is no longer of use and the pilot must take full control, as Joker starts to speed through a ship graveyard, a bright light – one she'd mistake as a star if she didn't know what it truly was – chasing them.

It's when she feels the jump of the deck below her and the instant fade of that light that she allows herself to breathe, to look at her husband, see his flaring mandible of a smile, and laugh, just laugh. Could she be insane to laugh at nearly dying and most likely being all hurt, if not serious in many of their cases? Yes, but it's a good insane, one that she shares with her crew as everyone seems to go up in a cheer.

It's an insanity she shares with one person in particular, with the man that steps up to her, purrs as he cups her cheek, leans down, and kisses her. Out of the fire, she opens to him, sighing at the slide of his tongue, the roughness of it, across her own, and the pressure of its strength when he wraps it around hers.

 


	55. Chapter 55

-Garrus-

Time was a euphoric blur, riding on their success at temporarily setting back the looming enemy and finally, if only for a time, ridding themselves of anything hanging over their heads to be done.

He wouldn't be able to say when exactly he and his mate took to the MedBay under the ship wide order to get their injuries checked no matter how small, walking out with bruised ribs, a stitched up tricep where a piece of debris shrapnel tried to leave a piece of him at the base when they fell after destroying the Reaper, and two nonlife-threatening bullet wounds, one to his thigh and the other the one in his waist that had a nasty bruise blossoming off it.

Speaking of bruises, Jane was sporting quite the gruesome collection on her thighs and shins from a destroyed piece of the platforms falling and pinning her that came with a wincing limp as she _insisted_ on walking the ship to inventory the damage before she would allow herself to relax after the all deserved it. Her illness, whatever it was, wasn't showing itself, so, in lieu of taking the doctor from those in their team that needed the urgent care – two of which included Thane after a hit to the ribs sent him into a near downing in his own blood incident and McKnight who took a bad hit to the back that may be more crippling that they all thought – they promised to make sure she took it easy. That 'easy' meant staying up in the Loft and in bed for the entirety of time it took before Chakwas could see to her.

Thankfully, the doctor's orders didn't say anything about not celebrating. Not that he wouldn't risk angering the woman for the moment of closing the cabin door before he's on his mate, kissing her roughly as he practically shoves her against the fish tank and wrenches her shirt and bra together up over her head. His tongue shoves in past her lips once done and just before she moans, stubby tongue pushing back. Using the leg she throws up into his grasp, he pushes her higher with his hips, grinding up against gravity and making her gasp and buck back.

"Garrus," she pants as he growls. "Shouldn't desperate… rutting… be _before_ the… suicide mission?"

Waiting until her moan stops, he answers with a smirk and low thrum at her ear. "Consider this the rutting you missed."

That makes her visibly shiver and gasp and he lets her, bucking his groined erection against her a few more moments before it becomes too much and he drops her, forcing her to turn around. She moves to protest, but he ignores her, pressing her to the chilled glass as he opens his civvies and just rips open her pants.

She moans at his force – he knows she loves being treated as less than the strong commanding woman they both know she is – and he growls against her ear as he uses a hand to line up and push in. Both of them make matching groaning sounds of pleasure as he hilts, grinding his hips against her rear to relax and widen her vaginal walls.

"Fuck."

"Exactly," he purrs as he runs a hand around her to grip her thigh where it joins her groin, letting his thumb stroke over her clit as his other hand keeps her chest pressed to the glass, giving the scared fish a show. "Do you have any idea what it was like without you here before the mission?"

Jane smirks and throws a sideways look over her shoulder. "Was it _stressful_?"

Matching her smirk, he pulls back at an agonizingly slow pace, stopping at he barely nestles within her folds, and waits for her impatient, needy groan and attempt to shift her weight in his hold. "You have no," he shoves in hard, making her grunt and whine, "idea."

She must be out of words as she just pants, hot puffs fogging up the glass in front of her mouth. Leaning forward, he runs his tongue along her pulse before pulling out and shoving in again, growling when she makes that whining moan again.

However, she has always been a glutton for punishment and she doesn't disappoint when she turns her eye to him, smirking and asking, "That all you got? Didn't know I married an Elcor with the pace you're going at."

He snarls, relishing in the clench of her tight walls around him in the delight she takes from the sound, and starts hammering into her so she can only make grunts with the smack of his hips against her, taking away her every chance at giving him any smart remarks. Knowing she'll stay, he runs the tips of his talons over her flushed and starting to bead with sweat skin, leaving white lines that soon flush red in their wake, before stopping at her round rear.

With an idea he got one day when he was thinking more about this very thing instead of fine tuning the Thanix, he pulls his hand back and brings it down, hard, onto a round cheek. She yelps and jumps in his hand, disrupting his rhythm at the same time her walls constrict tight. Eyeing him with shock lacing her glare, he smirks and does it again, leaving a red handprint on the flesh that shakes just like her breasts with his pounding hips.

She goes to open her mouth, eyes clenched shut and body growing tauter, but he interrupts as he growls in her ear. "Fight it." That dark green, almost black, eye snaps open in surprise and he purrs at the power she's given, knowing that she will do whatever she pleases despite his words. "You aren't allow to cum until I give the command, and we have a lot of time to make up." He reached around to cup a breast, circling the edge of a talon around a perked nipple, growling at her gasping moan. "I'd say about two hours lost time."

Arching as best as she can in this position, she kisses him – and he lets her – their tongues tangling and stroking roughly as he starts to grunt into her mouth. He feels his muscles starting to tense throughout his body and, not wanting to hurt her tender thigh with his grip, he shifts his stance, stepping closer and throwing her leg over his knee, her foot wedging against his calf and spur so she can use it for leverage. His now free arm leans against the glass to cradle her head, their bodies closer now as they move together.

Leaning down to whisper, he smirks and fights to keep control of his quickly approaching peak. "You're growing tight, Jane…"

"Fuck… fucking bastard…"

He chuckles as her inability to talk as her eyes clench and fingers fist against the glass. "Beg me," he orders into her ear with a low rumbling growl and licks up her neck, moaning at the salty taste of her clean sweat.

"C…Can't-"

"Then I won't give you want you want." He lets his voice dip low, vocals twisting and separating before snapping back together on every other word, getting that tell-tale flutter around him that proves she really does love it as much as she claims. "Beg me to give you want you crave."

Moaning, her body bucks against him, the muscles of her back tense against his chest, and she screams. "Please! … You fucking dirty fuck!"

If he wasn't needing that release just as much as her, he'd be able to make a joke about her incoherent desperation. Instead, he gives her what they both want with a few last bucks of his hips before he roars with her piercing scream, the two of them coming apart simultaneously as she bites into his forearm beneath her head and his talons leave gouges in the surface of the thick glass.

The room is filled with their rapid pants and thick smells as they ride the aftershocks together with her quivering walls around him and his shallow jerks. Thinking about it, he can't seem to come up with a better way to celebrate their continued survival than pushing their sore and exhausted bodies in such a glorious, beautiful and outright filthy way.

Yet, such a mission as the one they just completed not hours ago takes its toll, and neither of them can keep this up for long, pressed against the chilled glass as their hearts and breathing slows, so he, reluctantly, pulls from her, both slick and emitting sounds of loss. When he takes a step back to let her up, she turns to him with a smile and wraps her arms around his cowl as she lifts to her toes and he lowers, the two letting their tongues tangle in a languid, tender kiss.

"Wow… fuck," she pants, a huge, satiated grin on her face he matched with a chuckle. "And you said you don't do dirty talk."

He snorts and offers his hand, to which she takes and effortlessly allows their fingers to link. "I didn't say I 'don't' just that I 'haven't'. There's a difference, Jane," he says as he leads her to bed, not entirely done with her, but definitely less urgent and more looking for a joining that better says 'I thought I lost you, my love, but you're here in my arms'.

Taking the lead, she gently pushes him to lay and let her climb up onto him. He doesn't mind, laying his hands on her hips as she lifts onto her knees and slips over him, pulling moans from them both.

"I… love you, Garrus," she whispers as their bodies are as one when she seats herself completely.

"I love you too, Jane," he purrs back with a smile as he cups her cheek, she leaning into the touch and covering his hand with her own. "I was ready to die in that place after avenging you… then you came back to me."

She chuckles and kisses his palm. "Death is awfully boring without you. There's no one to talk to over a stiff drink."

"You just want me to pay for the rounds and carry you home when you can't walk."

"Didn't you know that Commander Shepard never buys her own drinks?" She smirks and slides her hand down to his wrist.

He matches her smirk, their situation below falling to the wayside as they just use it as one more way to stay connected, close in every way possible. "I guess it's a good thing you aren't here, isn't it, Commander _Vakarian_."

Humming, she smiles and nods. "I like that one much bett-"

"Shepard." He groans at EDI's interruption, knowing it's never anything good when it breaks the strict no-contact order unless under extenuating circumstances. "There is an incoming transmission from Admiral Steven Hackett, Alliance HQ. He is requesting a private audience-"

"She isn't Alliance, EDI."

"He claims it to be of a sensitive nature that will interest the Commander concerning your most recent mission with the Collectors."

Jane sighs and rubs her forehead in frustration. "Fine. Fine!" He tries to keep her in place, whining in his vocals, but she slides out of his hands – _damn drawback of her having such smooth skin and lithe limbs_ – with an apologetic look. "I'll make it up to you, promise. We can spend all night fucking, sleeping, and tending our wounds."

"You just want me to rub medigel on your sore legs," he rumbles, a breath of disappoint in his voice, and sits up on his elbows to watch her grab at least her shirt up off the floor, shrugging it both on and to his statement.

"Perhaps," she admits with a smirk. "You make such a good nurse." Turning to her terminal she holds a hand above the comm command. "Be quiet." _As if he needed to be told that._

The clear wall dividing the small office from the seating area containing the ships he put together and she painted goes dark, cutting off his view. He knows better than to ask what she did and is answered anyways when he hears the voice of the Admiral that hounded her so heavily when she was supposed to be chasing Saren two years ago. "Commander. Thank you for your time. I'll keep this brief."

"Not really a Commander, anymore, Admiral."

"You may not be an official Commander of the Alliance, but there are still some of us that haven't forgotten what you did. Despite your self-appointed Black Ops work." Garrus shakes his head in silent argument over empty platitudes. "We have a deep-cover operative out in Batarian space. Name's Doctor Amanda Kenson. Dr. Kenson reported that she found evidence of an imminent Reaper invasion."

Biting down his vocals, he sits up to turn his good side to the conversation, needing to hear this. Not that he sees why this is their problem when this is _exactly_ what they've already been saying all along. "Just this morning I received word that the Batarians arrested her. They're holding her in a secret prison outpost on terrorism charges.

"I'll be sure to send my condolences. I heard those Batarian prisons aren't pretty." _Typical Jane, only with more bite towards potential superiors if the Alliance will ever come out and say what her association with them is._

"What your tone, Shepard. You may not be officially reinstated, but your current situation still calls for you to show respect to Superior Officers." Another biting back, this tongue literally of his tongue to keep the growl at bay.

Seeming to calm, the Admiral continues, his voice with less reprimand. "I contacted to ask you of a favor, to help rescue a dear friend. I trust you to go about this professionally despite your current opinion of the Alliance."

"Do you even know what this evidence even _is_?"

"Doctor Kenson believes it to be a Reaper device and proof that the Reaper's are indeed planning to invade." Garrus knows what she's doing in asking this questions without revealing her choice, she's compiling the benefits. The Admiral has practically admitted that, should she do this, he will be in, at least part, debt to her. "I've known Kenson for a long time, Shepard, and she's never overplayed her findings. If she says she has proof, then it's worth checking out."

"I do this and, what, you thank me? Pat me on the back and send me a Christmas card? I want insurance, Hackett. If you can't tell, this Reaper shit is what I've been saying from the fucking start. Hell, if we want to be specific, it's what Saren, the poor bastard, was saying too! I do this for _you_ , then I need hard assurance that you won't just take this and stab me in the back like every other fucking politician and higher-up."

"Shepard, Kenson is my friend," he says, actual admittance instead of authority in his voice. "You get her out of that prison, away from the Batarians that will torture her, then you have my vow to assist you when you ask for it within my power. This isn't an official Alliance operation, so I cannot guarantee what I can do when you call for future aid."

Garrus hears her sigh softly, knowing that isn't exactly what she asked for, but he supposes that the added benefit of whatever evidence this doctor has of the Reapers including with this half-promise is good enough as she answers. "Alright, consider it done. Send me the coordinates."

"One other thing, Commander. If the Batarians see a squad of armed soliders, they will surely kill Doctor Kenson. You need to go this alone, make this a recon mission." _Fat chance she'll go it alone._ "This is serious. Go in with discretion, or don't go at all." _I don't think I like the open threat in his voice, as if he can ask for a favor **and** make demands. _"The prison is hidden underground at a Batarian outpost on Aratoht in the Bahak system. You will need the exact coordinates I am sending to you now… Once she's secure, confirm her discovery. We'll debrief you when you return. Hackett out."

The dark panel clears up to reveal her scowl at the ships resting in their stands. He gets up and approaches her, asking incredulously, "You aren't seriously considering this, are you?"

"The op? Yes. The solo mission? Fuck no," she answers as she looks to him, making him smile that she seems to have caught his insubordinate streak. "It wasn't a fucking order, it's a request. I'm taking whoever the fuck I want because going without backup is fucking stupid. I'm not an infiltrator, I'm a front-lines girl. I need your help getting in undetected, Archangel."

He chuckles and lifts a brow. "You think I really was all that secretive on Omega?"

Snorting, she gives him an unconvinced look. "I saw the death count. No way you did all that without hiding in many a shadows." He has nod to that, admitting that there were more times than not when stealth was the better approach than taking after her. What only added to that surprise was the fact that most didn't think a Turian his size could disappear into a crowd or into the dark shadows of the station. "Good, so get suited up. Let's get this shit over with so we can finally dock somewhere nice and have a good, long shore leave."

* * *

In all retrospect, he should have been expecting things to go this way.

They had to fight their way out of the prison after they managed to find Dr. Kenson, but, while a bit of an annoyance, it wasn't what he had thought would be the issue. It wasn't even when they realized that they had to destroy an actual _Relay_ by crashing a massive asteroid into it – that was actually something he could relate to since it wasn't all that uncommon for Turians to use natural weapons when major damage was needed – or when they found they only had a bit over two days before the Reapers, quite literally, cam bearing down on the galaxy.

No, what _shouldn't_ have been that big of a surprise was that these idiots had been indoctrinated because _they were too stupid to **shield the damn thing**_!

Oh, but that does nothing for him now as he slowly wakes up from unconsciousness, his head pounding and muscles sore from the useless fight against the indoctrinated security and science team. Shaking off the drowsiness, he looks around at his surroundings.

It's dark, he's in his armor still but without his weapons, he's bleeding from a nick in his tongue and a second shot to the waist – _good thing Jane likes scars because now I have matching ones on each side_ – and he's pretty sure Dr. Kenson's men only thought of his confinement in what looks like a locked and abandoned MedLab was just an afterthought to more important matters.

 _Once again, the Reapers want Jane… their focus was on her, on keeping her alive,_ he thinks as he slowly gets up, groaning at the stiffness in his muscles from too little rest and too much open action. That, or he might be running low on the last dose of drugs he took on the Collector ship he isn't sure _how_ long ago. That's definitely an added reason to his weakness, he figures, as he stumbles to the door, opening his tool to begin hacking open the door.

His fingers twitch one too many times before he just gives up with precision with a growl and goes to the hydraulics panel for the door. Feeling for the near seamless edges of the panel, he yanks it open and grabs a handful of wires and yanks them out, the result being that the door jumps open enough to get an arm and should in enough for leverage.

Garrus pushes the door open and quickly ducks back in to check his surroundings, some sort of hallway with a locked door to his right and a glass door to his left, looking into what seems like a bigger MedBay. That must be where Jane is based off his last few moments of consciousness where Kenson had ordered to keep them alive, her for whatever purpose the Reapers had for her and he to 'control Shepard'.

He wasn't sure which was a more sobering, that they probably wanted to do what they did to here on the Collector base again or that they wanted to use him against her, to bend her to their wills through him. This isn't the time to think about it, however, as he needs to find her, then activate the Project and get off this damn rock before they destroy an entire system to try and delay the end of the galaxy.

Ignoring the pain from his wound – which _really_ hurts – he hunkers down low as he approaches the Bay with his back against the wall and glances in just in time to see quite the show. He definitely found his wife if the 'She's awake! Security!' is to be believed.

He sneaks in under the commotion of her waking and sending two armed guards flying with her biotics, their forms hitting the far wall and destroying whatever kind shelving unit that's holding an assortment of medical equipment there before falling limp to the floor. Unfortunately, the woman bolting from the examination room activates some sort of kinetic barrier to block his mate in.

It's all the same to him as he smirks, enjoying the false sense of power the woman flaunts at the activation, and all the while he is slowly and quietly stalks towards her. A credit goes to his wife as she doesn't show any sign of seeing him until right at the last moment, crossing her arms and motioning with her chin as a sneer crosses her lips.

The doctor turns in confusion to the sense of confidence in the confined woman and gets the chance to see the growling Turian just before his hand snaps out, completely engulfing her face as he shoves her back, smashing her head into the console. He continues, over and over against the unforgiving metal – and taking out every bit of his anger at, once again, being betrayed – until there's nothing left for his hand to grip onto to properly.

Dropping her, he uses a glove to wipe away the blood to see the console and release the doors. Jane exits quickly, whistling at the sight of the aftermath of the beating she watched. "Damn, Garrus," she says with a chuckle and smirk. "And here I thought I was going to be standing there with my thumb up my ass in that room all day. You have fun?"

"Actually," he admits with a rumble as he follows her to a locker where one of the thrown guards smashed into it to reveal her armor haphazardly thrown inside. "Yeah. Felt good to burn off some of that aggression."

"Well, keep it up." Her face is serious as she quickly starts to snap on her armor. "Your weapons are in there. Wonder how long we were out."

He nods with a rumble in agreement before stopping in his tracks, his eyes glued to ticking numbers. "Jane? I might have your answer." His mandibles flick in stunned disbelief. "A little under two hours."

"What? You're shitting me." Instead of answering that, he merely points, waiting long enough for her to turn her head before he rushes to grab his weapons and sets his visor to the countdown. "Holy fuck," she breaths out. "We've been out for two fucking days?!"

It would explain the off smell coming off him and the pain in his waist – probably infected because this Alliance facility probably wouldn't bother with the more expensive, protein neutral medigel – and the fact that his hide and plates feel like living creatures trying to crawl off his own body. He can at least use his suit's hidden medical reserves to stave off the infection until they get back to the Normandy for the time being. "Focus. We still have a mission."

"Right," she says with a nod as she turns back to the task at hand, armor snapping on and secure before she quickly holsters her weapons with shotgun in hand. "I'll lead and use my biotics sparingly, you bring up the back and drop their rear guard."

Nodding, he checks the bodies and pockets their sinks and flash grenades. "These people are numerous, but undisciplined."

"This must be an Alliance civilian op -only a small number of soldiers. Probably those we took out during their fucking ambush," she agrees before they slip out of the MedLab and to the locked door he saw previously. With a hand motion from her saying 'take care of this and I'll cover when you get out of the way' he drops down and opens his tool to begin hacking.

His hands are much more steady after the dose of medigel, his blood still too fast from not having enough Rebound in his system, but there isn't anything he can do about that. He didn't think their mission would include more than the infiltration of the prison and following debrief, so the single dose two days ago has long since left his system. What's left in its wake is a thumping headache, pressure in his joints, the feeling of his skin trying to get a mind of its own to peel off, and a rage that's joined his migraine in pounding in his ears to the beat of his racing and unsteady heart.

"Garrus," Jane's voice distracts him from staring at the green lock console. "You good?" Looking up to her, he sees the recognition that floods her face after a second of examination. "Fuck, you're withdrawing."

"Didn't think this op would take two days," he tries for levity, flicking a mandible. She curses under her breath as she helps him to his feet. "Don't worry, I can still fight."

"You better fucking be," she snaps, eyeing in his concern and frustration. "And we're fixed this the _second_ we get out of here."

"I can't agree more." Taking position along the other wall beside the door opposite her, he reaches over and hits the command, the doors sliding open to a hall.

It's a straight-away with rooms – locked – along their one side and large glass viewports that reveal the black of space over the rocky surface of the asteroid. What really gets his attention, are the massive propulsion engines on the surface. Those would definitely provide enough power to send this asteroid into the Relay, if only they can get past these damn guards Kenson keeps throwing at them.

It's so easy to prove their assumption that this was a civilian run operation, nearly void of any true military besides their financial backing, when they fight, not through strategically defensible rooms, but these people's living quarters, research labs and offices, and even Mess Hall, their _home_ for this past however long they've worked on this Project.

 _Is what will happen when the Reapers finally make their assault on us? Homes being turned into battlegrounds and fighting our own before falling under the same controlling insanity to join their ranks? Damn them, damn every last one of the synthetic bastards,_ he thinks with a growl and quick bow of his head, shaking at the thought that the enemy will wear the faces of their friends and family, as they finish up clearing out the Project Control Room.

He follows his wife as she approaches and activates the facility's controls, commanding the VI to give her the 'giant red button to send this rock into the God damn Relay and blow this fucking place'.

"Warning. Activating the Project will result in an estimated three hundred and five thousand casualties. Do you wish to continue?"

"Holy fuck, that's a lot." She looks to him. "We're in agreement that that don't mean shit to the numbers in the hundreds of billions we'll lose without this, right? Because I don't want to be the only one."

Instead of answering her, he steps to the console and taps in the command to activate, rumbling as he looks at her. "These people will die for the greater whole, buy us time."

"Spoken like a true Turian," she says over the sound of the loud droning of the engines starting up that echoes through the building and sends them stumbling on their feet. "Fuck… that's definitely the power needed to do-"

"Project activation in progress." The screens glow bright red just before, "Warning. Collision with Mass Relay is imminent. Begin evacuation procedures."

His mate steps to the console and taps a few buttons to connect to the public communications channel in this system. "Alert. All colonists in the Bahak system. This is a system wide evacuation order. I repeat, get the fuck out of the system-"

"No!" Her evacuation alert is interrupted, Kenson taking control of the systems. "Do you have any idea what you two have done?!

"You leave me choice," she declares, livid and moving her head in what Garrus has found is a human way of expressing their anger when they really want to thrash and attempt to destroy something. He guesses the reason he never sees Jane do it is because she solves all her anger issues with either screaming, sex, or beating anything into submission. "If we can't stop this asteroid from colliding into the Relay, it must be destroyed." The woman's image is gone just as quickly as it appeared, leaving the two of them.

"You dumb, crazy bitch." Shaking her head, Jane asks the VI. "Tell me where to find Doctor Amanda Kenson."

"Doctor Kenson is traveling to the Reactor Core module."

"She's going to overheat it, cause a meltdown," he growls, giving her plenty of reason to nod and motion to move out as they rush to the elevator that will take them down.

On the way, he hears her send out a message to the Normandy keep up with the asteroid and be ready to pick them up and immediately evacuate the system. Whether or not the Batarians swallowed their pride and decided to listen to a human transmission, they can't stick around to find out. Also, if there's one thing Garrus has to admit about Joker despite their rough acquaintance – the fact that he got them both through the Omega-4 and back _and_ actually got off his ass to lay cover fire helping to ease the distaste for the man – it's that he's most likely the only one capable of getting them out of this with the short time they already have.

The reactor control is set up in a main room containing the core surrounded by stations where the engineers can monitor and control the reactor's readings and act accordingly in emergency situations. At least, that's what would happen in a perfect galaxy, not when the entire facility is nothing but lunatics controlled by the Reapers.

Case in point, Kenson's declaration of 'I will die never having seen the Reaper's blessings' from behind her protective glass wall. If not for that, he wouldn't have hesitated in ending this right here and now, but, just like always, it's never that easy.

Throwing a hand gesture at the fleeing doctor with a spit of 'fuck you, you Reaper bitch', Jane turns to him and motions to the incoming duo of guards. She ducks down into the monitoring station as he takes cover behind a pillar, throwing a flash bang he confiscated, waiting for it to go off with a flash of light and grunts of surprise from their enemy, and shooting each in the head with his Mattock.

"Scratch two." He looks over to see her, most likely, shake of her head or exasperated eye roll at his remark, but she isn't there, instead accessing the console. He _should_ have words with her about not paying attention during a firefight, but it's actually pretty damn flattering that she trusts in him so completely to drop enemies that she doesn't even wait for them to hit the ground before moving. Not that they have an option to delay with the ever imminent reactor meltdown or, if that's averted, crash into the Mass Relay.

"Alright," she says as she turns to him, rushing to get out the information. "You got to do this manually. There are two cooling rods, A and B. I say we separate and get them both."

"I assume that means A goes first?" She nods. "Then keep radio contact. I take left and you take right?"

She's stopped mid word by the doors on each direction opening, resistance moving to stop their advance. He feels her fist tap twice on his shoulder before she points, heading into cover in the opposite direction; each will cover the other's six from across the room, then head out down different paths.

The guards, showing their ineptitude at open combat with trained killers, drop quickly, even allowing the two of them to switch between front and back assaults when it seems the other is attracting more enemy attention that the other. He even manages to get a bark of affront from her when he targets a pyro tech's tank, causing it to explode over her cover.

"Alright, smart ass, coast is clear. Move out and see you on the other side."

Nodding at the order, he jumps his cover, pops the sink, and heads deeper into the halls of the Reactor Control. Resistance is light, perhaps a sign their numbers are thinning and near completion, as he moves forwards, taking down guards with well-placed shots into the weakest areas of their armors. He isn't even stopping to finish them off, merely stomping on their dominant hands to before kicking their weapons from their broken hands.

When he finally comes to the B station, he finds it blocked, the VI deeming the area unsafe to enter due to plasma being vented into the area. Sighing at the faulty design of this Alliance facility, he rushes to the venting controls, quickly searching for the command sequence to halt the automated procedure and setting his visor to a timer in which he needs to get through the chamber before learning just what vented plasma against Turian plates feels like.

Getting through without any unnecessary tests to his armor's integrity when put up against heated plasma, he travels through the Maintenance area. It came with another force of guards attempting to slow him – and the confirmation that Jane made it to her cooling rod with little incident out of the usual – but he was able to take care of them in quick time, all the while the still active countdown ticking down.

"Garrus, I've found you're locked down." A bright red before him proves her right, but before he can speak, she continues, "Hold on… Got it." He actually chuckles as he watches the door, miraculously, open under her command. "See? And you thought I was unteachable."

"I'll be sure to tell Tali."

A snort. "Shit, tell the whole galaxy. Commander Shepard finally learned how to connect circuits."

Too preoccupied with prepping for hostiles as he rides the lift out of the tunnels, he merely hums his acknowledgement. When the doors slide open, he is back up to the level of the reactor, within a small station alight with warnings on both the private terminals and overhead displays. This must be Station B for the cooling rods.

"Jane, get ready to move," he says as he approaches the glowing rod standing tall from the temperature control module. "Inserting the cooling rod now." He takes the handle situated atop the pillar and slowly turns it, pushing as it sinks and seals with a low hiss.

"Cooling Rod B reinserted. Critical reactor meltdown averted. Core temperature dropping."

A frustrated growl comes over the comm from the center core room. "You've done nothing! I can still override power to the engines!" He barely catches Jane's 'I got this' through Kenson's, "Try to stop me!"

He nods, even if his mate can't see it, and moves to rush to assist her. She's closer to the main reactor than he is, which means he may not get to her position in time for whatever is going to go down between the two women, but, if he knows Jane – which he does – she knows how to fend for herself against a crazed doctor who already had her elbow dislocated two days ago.

"Alright you fucking crazy bitch, step away from the reactor." He can hear that she's already gotten to their target through the comm, even Kenson's voice – which was no longer coming over the intercom is audible.

 _"You've ruined everything!"_ An almost inaudible sound of something hitting metal, a boot or hands perhaps, and the woman's voice turns desperate. _"I can't hear the whispers anymore. You've taken them away from me. I will never see the Reaper's arrival because of you and that… abhorrent monstros-"_

A loud bang erupts just as he manages to charge in through the door, Kenson downed by a massive hole in her chest and stomach, an inactive detonator in her hand. His head snaps between the woman and his wife, her shotgun raised in her hands and her brows drawn down.

"That _'abhorrent monstrosity'_ is my fucking husband," Jane says as she lowers the weapon. "Fucking racist, indoctrinated bitch's asshole."

"Jane," he chides with little true disproval. "We don't have time to insult a corpse. As much as I'd love watching you expand your vocabulary, I'd much rather we get off this damn asteroid."

She nods and motions to lead as she swaps sinks. "We need a shuttle…the Normandy can't land with the asteroid moving as fast as it is and our shuttles are damaged from the damage to the Cargo Bay. VI! Where are the nearest escape shuttles?"

"Take the lift from this room to the external access. From there, proceed to the communications tower. The remaining escape shuttles will be located on the tower's landing pad."

"In other words, 'snap on your helmets and let's get the fuck out of here'." She smacks a palm to his chest in her own way of ordering him to double time, running to the lift as she unhooks her helmet from her armor and starts putting it on.

He follows without pause, getting his helmet on and secured before the lift doors open and they rush out of the airlock as soon as it depressurized. The approaching Relay is more than unnerving, but they cannot dwell on it as the last remaining opposition, mostly remaining guards trying to escape that leave activated mechs in their way, stands between them and their ride off this rock.

Looking back, many would call their almost near panic rush through enemies unorthodox at best and idiotically suicidal, but it's the best they can do with what they have. After all, they are running on bodies weak from not only two days of sedation after a rough fights between Batarians and then the crazed security controlled by the Artifact, Rho, but _also_ the after effects of the run on and out of the Collector base. Add to that his condition, her inability to use biotics without passing out, and their low heat sink count and he would say their idea to just 'get the hell out of this shit storm' was a pretty damn good one.

"Get that shuttle active while I make damn sure the Normandy sees us down here," she orders as she rushes to the communications tower, accessing it and yelling into her comm link. He moves to get into the shuttle when something happens that feels like he's been sent back two years, to Virmire.

"Uh… Jane?" he trills as the golden form of a Reaper, a bit difference it overall shape as Sovereign, but obviously a Reaper all the same.

"What-" She's cut short as her breath catches.

"Shepard." _Wait, I know that voice, but it can't possibly be the **same** one controlling the Collectors this whole time_. "You and the Turian have become and annoyance. You fight against inevitability like dust struggling against cosmic winds. This seems a victory to you, a star system sacrificed, but even now, your greatest civilizations are doomed to fall. Your leaders will beg to serve us."

"Hell of a big talk coming from a thing that has to control mindless slaves to come after me, slaves that are now nothing but dust." She steps forwards and jabs a finger in the air. "I will do _whatever_ it takes to take you and all your fucking asshole friends _down_ , Harbinger. Mark my words, even if I have to do it myself, you _will_ fucking _die_."

It doesn't seem impressed, not that Garrus would be able to tell anyways on a giant ship creature that had no features. "Know this as you die in vain. Your time will come, your species will fall. Prepare yourselves for the Arrival." Slowly fading into the stars, as if never there, only the glowing viewports remain for a moment longer before Jane looks to him.

"What a prick."

Snorting, he gives her that urgent open hand pat to the chest as he rushes into the shuttle, waiting for her to jump in behind him before opening the comm channel just as the Normandy is lining up, Cargo Doors opening. He'd be lying if he didn't push the shuttle a bit harder than necessary, cause a bit more damage to the Hold than there already was, but they're on and, not a moment after they give the word, the Normandy is shooting towards the Relay, rushing against the clock counting down to the worst possible deadline.

They feel the slight flutter from the Jump just before EDI, almost quiet in condolence, speaks. "Shepard, Garrus. The Alpha Relay has been lost. I show no use between your evacuation order and its destruction."

"Meaning none of those racist sons of bitches listened," she explains, as if they both had to hear it instead of silently know. "Fucking Batarians." Sighing, she takes off her helmet and lets it fall, looking to him. "This is only the beginning. Only I don't have a war to justify what we just did and no one will believe us until the Reapers are breathing down their backs while they're bent over and bearing their asses."

"Commander?" Garrus moves to her while Joker speaks, as he removes his helmet and kneels down to hug her, to comfort her not from the fact that they, in essence pulled the trigger on hundreds of thousands – neither would regret a decision like that considering the outcome it prevented – but to hold her against the stress of uselessness in the face of politics and bureaucracy they don't know how to wade through without drowning.

"What is it, Joker?" she asks with a tired sigh as her arms wrap around him as best they can in full armor.

"What do you want me to say to Admiral Hackett?"

"Alert him that I've returned. He will want a debrief." Cupping her cheek as she speaks, he purrs in concern. She looks about as bad as he feels, and that's definitely worrying considering his fighting heavy withdrawal. "Have EDI contact me with his wishes and request that Chakwas head up to the Loft to examine Garrus and myself. Tell her we'd like to let Thane and Knight and whoever else had to stay overnight in the Bay their privacy."

The pilot cuts the comm with an affirmation and leaving the two as she looks into his eyes. "Now is the time for them to either open their eyes or condemn billions to burn." He nods with a rumble of agreement, watching as she stands, cold, hard determination and unfailing belief in what they did shining in her eyes. "They can call us monsters for what we did, but if it opens their eyes to what's coming, then I know I will wear that crown of thorns."

"As will I, whatever that means," he agrees as he stands before her. "It was me who activated the engines, after all."

That makes her eyes widen and he's left confused before she curses, "Fuck. That's exactly it. Hackett can't know you went up there, at least not until I explain."

"I never expected you to lie to protect me-"

"But I will, a thousand times over," she disagrees with a scowl up to him, the look stopping any protest because, he knows, he'd do the same, so he can't fault her. "For now, I want to gauge the conversation with Hackett, see what I should tell and what I should leave out of my report."

"Meaning you'll do it alone."

"Exactly."

Rumbling, not liking it, but unable to do anything against it – she _was_ supposed to do it alone and that's what the Admiral thought all along – he nods in understanding. "I'll be waiting for you, ready for whatever may come."


	56. Chapter 56

-Jane

"What the hell happened out there, Commander?" To give credit to the Admiral, whatever anger and frustration he's feeling towards the mission he personally requested of her outside of direct Alliance involvement, he remains calm, collected, as he maintains his composure, hands at his back.

"I sent you out there to break Amanda Kenson out of prison, and now an entire system is destroyed." He looks her over, at her civvies devoid of all associative insignias and sparse bandages from their ordeal. "I hope you can explain the leap of logic between those two very distinct events."

"You said it yourself, Kenson had proof that the Reapers were planned to invade, only it was in the future or a few years, but in _two fucking days_. As in, two days from the time I got her out of that prison," Jane says as she stands, grabbing her report in a tight fist from the table in the barely holding together Conference Room, cleaned of the fallen pieces of the room's walls and ceiling, but now with an unsightly view of the inner hull. _Time to do some interference, protect my mate from any involvement of an obvious Batarian/human political shitstorm that's sure to happen._

"But you want to know the best fucking part? Every single one of them was indoctrinated. They had everything in place to stop the Reapers from being able to use the Relay, but they stalled for who knows how long and when I tried to stop them? They attacked me, drugged me, and left me with barely _two hours_ to stop a galaxy wide extinction we have zero chance of winning." She hands over the report with a bit more force than probably necessary. "It doesn't matter what I did or didn't do, those Batarians would be dead anyways, Relay destroyed or not."

"The Hegemony reports there were no survivors from Aratoht," he responds without looking up from the report she 'took liberties' with. "You realize you are the only one who knows the evidence Kenson and her team had." _Not precisely…_

"Would it have mattered?" She snaps, making him look up as she crossed her arms with a cocked hip. "It's not my fault the Alliance keeps shitty communications, that you assholes kept it secret for fear of political fallout. I know what I saw down there, I did what I had to because I thought about the entire galaxy, and not only that, but I fucking warned every single one of the people in the Bahak system to run, evacuate. It was a system-wide alert with no possibility of not making it through and I can even get you a copy because even the Normandy received it. Am I to be blamed because Batarians won't-"

"Please, Commander," he halts her with a raised hand before standing at military rest once more. "I'm sure all the details are in your report. More importantly, there's a more serious matter at hand." That catches her attention, confuses her - _more important that Reapers_ _ **invading**_ _? I gotta hear this_ \- and she looks to him, all attention on the clean-cut military man, through and through.

"I won't lie to you, Shepard. The Batarians will want blood and they'll turn to the Alliance to take the blame after knowing about Kenson's imprisonment and the Normandy's access to the Relay both before Kenson's escape and directly before the Relay destruction. The evidence is too damning and the Alliance can't afford a war with the Hegemony. Not with the Reapers looming at the galaxy's edge." Unable to truly speak and knowing enough about politics, about her fucked up luck, she breathes out heavily and closes her eyes a bit too long before looking up to him, chin held high.

"I know you had your reasons, and they're damn good ones, _but_ there were more than three thousand Batarians in that system, many of them civilians. All of them dead. Now I trust you did what you could, that you tried to save them, your unorthodox and unprofessional ways aside. If it were up to me, I'd give you a damn medal because you did what many are unable to do."

"But," she says, knowing deep down the truth, what she's become in the eyes of many - _and_ _ **still**_ _without the recognition that the fucking Reapers are coming_. "I'm now a scapegoat for preventing a war." Scowling, she purses her lips in anger and shakes her head. "You people want me to justify my actions, as if I'm some sort of pariah to humanity, like I acted against the very _point_ of that God damn operation."

"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Shepard, that you have to play nice for politicians. And even if I can't stop it, I can and _will_ buy you time to get things in order. It could be a long time before you are free of the charges and responsibility, but that doesn't mean you don't have allies in this. I can do everything in my power to make you less a prisoner and war criminal, but even you have to play nice once in a while, learn that not everything can be solved with violence."

"So you'll back me?" A lift of a red brow. "You'll defend my decision against whatever the Alliance war committee and Hegemony want to charge me with? Or does this mean you'll just make sure I have nice pillows in my cell?"

She sees the frustration, even if he hides it well, on Hackett's face, but she can't find reason to care. Let all of them be frustrated, hate the situation she's pulled them into, because now's the time to pull her resources, bring up every inconvenience they put her in for their own benefit and ask for hers.

"While I can't get them to drop charges, the Alliance can't afford to make it seem like your actions will go unnoticed, but they also don't want to condemn you if you had no only choice in terms of buying us time," he says. "I know you have evidence from your years working against them and I am willing to use my position as Admiral to make sure they listen to your warnings, that they prepare. I also hear you have Admirals Anderson and Kahoku backing you. You are not alone in this."

Sighing, she leans against the table at her back. _So this is really it? I'll be turned into a martyr to prevent a war before the war to end all wars_. "And my crew? My _mate_?"

"The Alliance does not hold your crew guilty by association. However, the Normandy will be confiscated as it was originally an Alliance ship, Cerberus rebuilding aside." He too sighs, and turns to take a few steps and back, thinking. "As for your spouse, public visitation can lead to unintended consequences for the peace we're trying to keep."

He holds up a hand to still her - very loud and vulgar - protest of where the Alliance can shove their peace and continues. " _However_ , seeing as how many of us don't consider you to be the war criminal the politicians want to make you out to be, there may be a way to figure something out to allow you to keep some sort of contact. Consider it my thanks for what you did, what you are agreeing to do." He relaxes and offers his hand. "Our differences on proper protocol for chain of command aside, Shepard, you have more honor than can be said about most."

"Thank you, sir. It's been a long time since someone hasn't looked down their nose at me except for when they needed me to save their ass." She takes his hand and shakes it, disappointed and hating that she has to just bend over for politics and against what she knows was right, but unable to fight the storm. "I'd… I'd like to at least have a chance to explain to my mate, to come down from a mission that nearly took everything."

"I understand, Commander. And here," he hands her the report. "I don't need a report to know you did the only thing you could, the only _right_ thing. All I want is your collected information so far on the Reapers, so I can begin to pull together everything we have. I have a feeling it won't be long before we have to all band together to fight this war."

She takes the report and tosses the useless thing on the table at her back, turning to lean on her hands, head down. "I'll get you everything I have, it's your responsibility to get them to listen because they sure as hell didn't when I tried to convince them." She doesn't bother to watch his thoughtful nod as he takes his leave, waiting until the door slides shut before she slams a fist on the pock marked and scratched wood.

"Fucking bastards!" she curses as she leans on her elbows, head in her hands. "Feeding me to the fucking wolves…"

 _I should do what Jack said, go pirate_ , she thinks as she sighs, knowing that never is a real option. Sure, she'd get the last laugh, the freedom of not having to serve a single idiot, but at the cost of the galaxy. Hell, with her luck, she'd probably still be alive when it happens. Would serve her right to just have her nose rubbed into her own shit because she was too damn stubborn.

It isn't even about others, either, not when she truly thinks about it. She doesn't want to lose the galaxy, she selfishly wants it whole and uninvaded. More importantly, she wants to live with the only person she truly loves for as long as she possibly can and if that means she has to lay over and play nice for politicians while essentially sitting on her thumbs, she will bite down her pride.

What hurts the most isn't the imprisonment or the betrayal of the very Alliance she gave so much, so many years of her life, but the fact that she must leave him, push him away, to protect him. She knows he won't go willingly, will fight her every step of the way – maybe even to the point of actual fighting with fists and feet – but even he has a job, a duty.

If not to the galaxy or his people, then to her. Just like her, he must take all he knows and all the evidence he has to his leaders, to anyone. He should kick and scream until someone listens, someone decides to _believe_ and try to prepare for the biggest fight of all their lives. It will be a difficult task, but she has to do it, has to convince him that no matter how much it will hurt them to be apart, it will mean nothing if they lose the other to the cold, unforgiving hands of death.

"Shit," she whispers to the empty room, closing her eyes in defeat. Separation will hurt more than anything – _hate to admit it, but even worse than dying_ – but she can't turn away from her only chance to save him, even at the possible cost of her freedom or, whatever religious entity forbid, death, so she will play the sacrificial lamb.

Too lost in thought, she doesn't hear the doors open or the ship's doctor step into the room. "Shepard?" Jane's only indication she heard is a slight turn of her head to glance back at Chakwas. "I would ask if this is a bad time, but I was finally able to finish your medical tests."

"And it can't wait?"

"I don't think you'd like me to wait once you hear what I've found," she responds with a step towards her Commander, laying a hand on her arm. "Please, Shepard. I wouldn't interrupt you at a time like this unless it was important. Is there a chance you, Garrus, and I can speak privately?"

"Our Loft should be fine." Chakwas nods in agreement, the MedBay currently occupied by the most seriously injured of the crew from both the ground team and noncombatant crew. "Then let's go, I can comm Garrus to meet us."

Walking behind the doctor, she pings her husband to join her, anxious about telling him the news from her debrief with Hackett she'll have to tell him once this issue with her health is explained and taken care of. She barely notices the Salarian professor out of his usual place in the Lab until she's nearly walking straight into the swoop of his armor.

"Jesus," she curses under her breath with a good natured scowl. "What the hell are you doing out of your hermit hole?"

"Not hole, Research Lab. Hermit term to describe reclusive individual choosing to isolate oneself from society usually for religious reasons. Not hermit," he takes one of those long breaths before smiling, "Like to consider solitude for sake of researching interests. Entertaining."

"Uh huh." Unconvinced, she closes her tool. "You didn't answer my question."

"I asked him if he could help," Chakwas interrupts and explains, laying a hand on Jane's shoulder to stop her questioning of why the doctor need Mordin's assistance. "Trust me, Shepard. It will all make sense soon, I just think the two of you should hear it together."

 _Okay, now I'm worried I'm dying some horrible, genetically impossible death… figures._ Despite her frown of confusion and enormous surge of curiosity at what must be so important, she follows silently, the three of them catching Garrus in the lift.

He frowns at her expression, rumbling in concern, but she shakes her head in a 'we'll talk in a bit' and takes his hand in hers. Their fingers lock together and, catching them, Chakwas smiles warmly just as the doors open to admit them into the cabin that has become their home during these past few months preparing and accomplishing their suicide mission.

"Alright, you two. Please take a seat," the doctor requests with a motion to the couch. "And don't worry, it isn't what you're probably thinking. If it were… life threatening, I would have insisted to speak with you immediately after I received the results." Her pause is concerning and Jane looks to Garrus, both of them confused as all hell. "Jane. You're pregnant."

"What?!" Garrus yelps with a trill – a combination of noises she's never heard from him before - as Jane bursts into laughter. _Whew, and here I thought I was dying. Turns out Chakwas just took one too many sedatives from the Base or her computers are fucked and need replacing._

Trying to get control of her hysterics enough to talk, Jane gasps and wipes at her tears, cheeks hot. "Okay… not to tell you how to do your job… but there's _no way_ …" she snorts and holds her stomach, nearly hiccupping beside a still stunned and silent Turian whose mandibles can't seem to stop flapping like Legion's face plates. "It's impossible!"

"Yeah," her mate agrees, the exact opposite of her amusement over his face. Hell, he almost seems a bit pissed that they'd even think about telling him such a stupid diagnosis. "Your machines must be broken from the damage."

"Not possible. Tested multiple times with difference means of determination. All positive."

Chakwas nods. "Honestly, I would have expected you to suspect something, Jane, after I took the sample from your abdomen."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that wasn't a shot of something for the pain?" She tosses her hands in exasperation. "And that still doesn't explain how we can _suddenly_ bend and defy the laws of physics, or biology, or whatever the fuck it is… It. Just. Doesn't. Fucking. Happen!"

"Devised hypothesis. Most logical conclusion. Cerberus cybernetics had unintended side effects. Possibly meant to supplement hormonal imbalance from birth, combat possible ailments caused by it from presenting in future." He nods and begins to pace, both Jane and Garrus' heads following him in entrapped disbelief and stunned silence. "Even with sample of embryonic fluids, still surprised. Know of impossibility of cross-species offspring. Zero percentage of natural fertilization."

"So… what does that mean for… you know-"

"The genetic freak inside me," she fills in for her husband, earning her a sigh and nod in agreement from him at her side. "There's only one fucking thing that can do this."

Chakwas nods. "Yes, I came to that conclusion as well, but, by whatever means this has happened, it's a confirmed pregnancy." A rush of air escapes Jane's lungs and she feels Garrus take her hand in silent comfort and support. "We understand this is nearly impossible to take in, even more than a normal pregnancy, but I think you should know that, besides the obvious, the babies are healthy."

The redhead chokes on her breath, coughing as her mates asks with shaking voice and vocals, "B…babies? … As in multiple?" His head snaps back and forth between the two doctors, a weird whine in his throat, as she's still stunned, mouth gaping like some damn fish.

"Yes, that's correct. As far as we can tell, there are two separate genomes-"

"Twi…" He swallows audibly, vocals all over the place. "Twins? As in _two_?"

"No fucking way." Still stuck on the fact that she and her _Turian_ husband could have very well produced a child – _because I'm damn sure I didn't fuck anyone, so it's either his or Cerberus pulled some shit, and they still aren't completely innocent as it is_ – she shakes her head and leans against her mate and runs a hand over her pulled back hair. "Mordin," she practically pleas. "Do your damn job and tell Chakwas she's wrong."

"Not wrong," he objects. "Doctor Chakwas came, needing secondary analysis. Findings correct. Intercourse produced genetic offspring most likely through outside interference from unknown tech."

"You mean Reaper." She sighs and closes her eyes. There's really no other explanation besides that. After all, it's already been confirmed they used the tech to revive her, to rapidly heal her injuries that should have kept her dead. Even her own mate has Reaper tech in his face and shoulder from Chakwas trying to save _his_ life. "So I have a Reaper uterus, is what you're saying."

"Assumption. Possible." Shrugging, he then smiles. "Hear news of successful reproduction usually positive. Understand hesitance-"

Shaking his head, Garrus makes a sighing growl that Jane isn't sure exactly what the meaning is, but his expression looks like a combination of fear trying to mask his excitement, anger, confusion, concern, and exasperation. "How did this even _happen_? And don't tell me sex, because I got that part." He frowns and looks to her, squeezing her hand. "How did this tech in her do this? Is she safe? Are the… the babies?"

Jane smiles weakly, the two trying to carry each other through the shock, as Chakwas hums in thought. "So far, mother and babies are healthy and showing normal signs of development. However, taking in the abnormality of this type of pregnancy, I implore you to allow either myself or Mordin to keep strict monitoring over yours and your babies' conditions." She smile to try and ease the couple's worries some. "After everything the two of you have done for everyone, it's only fair that we do our very best to see this through."

Even with the kind words, the truth that the doctor is dancing around is there. This might never completely come to fruition and they will be left with nothing but the heart stopping shock and shattering truth that it is truly impossible even when the same technology that made that… human Reaper monstrosity, that there will always be one thing she can never give her only love.

"Process of conception quite interesting," Mordin starts as he begins to pace, head bobbing in some internal tune. "From samples taken, conclude technology creates ova with incomplete maternal DNA sequence. Possibly due to Shepard's previous medical history of infertility. Resulting offspring unique." He stops and looks to them, as if they're able to keep up with him this far. "Predict embryos are combination of incomplete ovum and pair of paternal spermatozoon each."

"Wait," Garrus interrupts, which is good, since she's completely lost after 'samples taken'. "I wasn't the best at xenobiology – or even biology, for that matter – but I _do_ know that your math is wrong. You just said each child has an ovum and a _pair_ of sperm. I thought only one sperm has to fertilize?" He tilts his head, mandible clicking, and looks to her in confusion, only getting a shrug in answer. _Hey, I just know sex makes babies with a sperm breaks into an egg… that's it._

"Yes," Chakwas agrees, saving her from having to look like a complete idiot by having to open her mouth. "I was interested in that too. From what you're saying, a set of chromosomes from each of the two sperm cells combined within this artificial egg. Where does that include the partial chromosome set contributed from Jane?"

"Human have term, genetic Chimerism. Organism composed of two genetically distinct sets of DNA. In this case, one remains dominant while other considered 'dormant'." It almost seems like the man is _bouncing_ in excitement at being able to speak so freely about his line of work. "Hypothesis hybrid offspring will present majority of Turian characteristics due to paternal DNA the dominant contributor. However, believe technology has used DNA from mother to supplement qualities deemed 'inferior'."

That catches her interest, something she can somewhat understand. "So they'll be Turian, but with, what, some human parts?"

"Example. Turian heat retention inferior to human. Predict offspring will have layer of adipose tissue beneath plates to better insulate and retain heat."

He looks to her to see if she understands and she nods. Something like that would actually help after the incident on Noveria where she nearly lost her husband. "Okay, they get little things from me… so I'm guessing you couldn't tell for sure what the other things would be until you get a look at them?"

The Salarian geneticist nods as Garrus hums, brows drawn down as he looks up from the floor he'd been attempt to stare through and bore into the hull below. "Tell us the truth, both of you. Them being hybrids, and mostly Turian, is there a chance they can harm Jane?" She watches as he turns his eyes to hers, full of concern and a bit of something else she can't quite place. "We aren't really soft and round like human babies and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Well, she would have to have a Cesarean Section when they are due," the doctor answers with a frown. "And I've considered the possibility that Jane may not be able to carry them to term." Her frown deepens and the two know immediately what she will say. "If it comes to that, there is a decision you both must make."

Jane sighs along with her husband's dejected rumble, their hands squeezing the other's. "We understand." She looks between the two giving them the biggest news of their lives, maybe even more important that the impending Reapers, which is saying something. "Answer this, can you tell if they'll be, you know, _normal_? We already know they won't normal in a sense of genetically, but what about medical problems? Will they be fucked? Is it worth it?"

Chakwas gives them a sympathetic look and Jane actually lets it go, she can't expect someone to give the first ever diagnosis of an alien hybrid pregnancy and not feel sympathy for the two completely flabbergasted and worried parents-to-be. "I can't answer if it'll be 'worth it', but I've already run all genetic tests I can for both humans and Turians on the samples from your womb and I haven't found anything. I can know more with a sonogram about their physical conditions." She nods and looks to Mordin, hoping he can give her at least a mostly confident answer given the circumstances.

"Have run simulations. Genetic structure has not presents discouraging results."

"Jane, Garrus," the doctor's soft spoken words call their attention, stills their worried thoughts. "I know this isn't easy to take in and that you both have a big decision to make," she offers a warm, supportive smile, "but maybe seeing them might help you?"

"Seeing them?" her mate chirps and his eyes widen. "We can?" Jane nods in agreement to his question, wondering what equipment they'd have that could possibly be used.

"The MedBay has ultrasound equipment that I haven't really used except for the occasional abdominal scan during transit, but it should work depending on how far along they are. I'd say their gestation period will most likely resemble the Turian twenty-six weeks, but we can determine that after a few scanning sessions." The doctor goes to them and crouches down to their eye level, laying a hand on Jane's shoulder. "You aren't alone in this, you two."

"Yeah… thanks…" the red head doesn't really focus on the woman, brows drawn low as her mind runs wild, from both extremes of ecstatic excitement that this could really happen to devastating fear that it really can't and that it'll take so much with it when it fails. "We… we need a chance to think this over."

"Of course," she says with a companionable pat on the shoulder under her palm before standing and nodding to Solus to give the couple their time to think, to come to terms.

As the door closes with a hiss, leaving the two that are really four alone, Jane makes a weird combination of whine and groan as she runs her trembling hands down her face, exhaling heavily. She sees her husband do much the same in her peripheral, rumbling a growl as he rubs his neck and shoulder, eyes staring straight at the wall in front of them.

He is first to break the silence, voice suddenly exhausted. "So…"

"Yeah…" she sighs heavily, her stomach clenching and doing somersaults as her chest constricts. "Is it wrong to say that I want this, but I also don't?" _And not just because we will soon be at war. That'd be an easy hurdle to get over considering everything else._

Shaking his head, he finally looks to her and she turns to face him as he takes both her hands, the two of them barely keeping from turning into a shivering, sobbing mess of nerves. "I know exactly what you mean. I wanted this since the day I took you as my mate, I _want_ it now," he frowns, "but what will their lives be? They will be the only ones of their kind… and I can't say as that would really be something I'd want to live as."

"And they aren't safe… never will be," she whispers as she squeezes his hands. "Not only will they be outsiders, but they can be outright _shunned_ by the galaxy. 'Monstrosities', 'freaks', they'll call them… and that's if they don't try to cut them open and dissect them or lock them away-"

"Or kill them." That makes her look at him with wide eyes and he hums, ducking his head. "Turians don't feel the need to run tests or examine. If they think something is a threat or doesn't belong, they don't waste resources to keep it locked up, they get rid of it, one way or another." He growls. "I'd fight every last one of them with my bare hands before I let that happen, but it's only one more thing that will separate them from society, from others."

"Humanity wouldn't accept them either…" Her voice is weak as she clenches her eyes against a burn that she knows will be the tears of frustration. He must sense it because, not a moment later, she feels his hand releasing hers to cup her cheek. That seems to open the flood gates as she starts to cry and speak. "Dammit, Garrus… we've wanted this for so long, never thinking a Turian-human baby was even possible, but now it seems so selfish to want to put our children through it."

"Maybe we deserve to be selfish." Her eyes snap open and she looks at him in confusion, seeing his confidence expression as he cups her face in both hands to pull her into a press of foreheads. "We have done everything the galaxy has asked of us – even life, in your case – so it's time we be selfish, take the one damn thing we've always wanted but could never have." Purring, he smiles. "I say we compulsively monitor your and the babies' health throughout the pregnancy and, what's the saying, play by ear? And when they're born, then we will protect them from everything in this universe that will try to harm them."

"Something worse than the Reapers?" she smiles weakly, sniffing past a stuffy nose, huffing a sort-of laugh as he nods with a rumble and wipes her tears. "Fuck, Garrus. What if something happens? We're not even considering _we're at fucking war_ …"

"All the more reason to take this chance. We could all die tomorrow, in a week, month, years, but this?" He reaches down and lays a hand on her belly, making her gasp at the tender touch and churring purr in his throat. "This will be the happiness to come home to in a galaxy of pain and destruction."

Nodding, she smiles and covers his hand with hers. "Let's do it. If whatever god-like entity that exists grants us these little brats through the pregnancy, then I say we take advantage." He chuckles at her own special endearment and she smirks, air starting to clear with their decision to let things come as they may. "You know that means we have to think about names."

"Mm…tomorrow," he says with a matching smirk as he tilts his head to kiss her, hands moving to the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head. "Right now, I'd like to enjoy the news that my wife is now the mother of my children, odd circumstances aside."

She chuckles as she in turn removes his shirt, taking a bit longer because the snaps and closures. Her bra is gone the same time his tunic lands on the floor and before he kisses her, gently pushing her back to lay on the smooth cushions of the couch.

As their tongues dance and tangle with a slow and tender tempo, she feels the slight scratch of his plates as he opens her pants and gently pushes them and her panties down over her hips, warm pads of his fingers sliding down her hips and thighs. Jane moans and lays her head back, giving him the opening to lick and nibble down her throat as he divests himself of his own pants.

Hearing his purring growl against her skin, his tongue running along her pulse, she closes her eyes and lifts a leg over his hip, relishing in the slick heat of him against her thigh. As he presses his mouth to hers for another deep kiss, he runs a hand through her hair, supporting his weight on his forearm, as the other takes himself to line up.

"I love you, Jane," he moans deeply into her ear as he enters her, his length parting her walls with in a one steady push, the pace letting her feel each and every ridge to successfully drag out a needy whine from her lifts.

"I… love you too, Garrus." Hearing a new purr – a sound of clicks and chirps underlying his usual, loving purr - coming from him, she looks up to him and smiles as his free hand moves from their connection to lay on her belly. "You ready to be a dad?"

He huffs a laugh, his entrance stuttering a bit as he enters her completely. "The bigger question is, are you ready to be a mother?"

Smirking, she clenches around him, making him groan and caress her belly as he slowly pulls back and pushes in. "Ask me in a few months."

He snorts before going quiet, kissing her as he moves tenderly above her, taking the pace to draw his features over every sensitive spot within her until she's a mess of writhing between gasps and moans around his tongue. He doesn't relent, neither speeding nor slowly, as he makes love to her, drawing out each other their pleasures.

There's no telling how long passes before the two of them are gasping and groaning in need, both of their bodies moving in attempt to reach that peak together as their hands map out the other as if the first time together, feeling vast, new territory. With a shared moan, and growling equivalent, his back bows, causing him to curl around her as he ducks his head in her neck and she buries hers in his cowl. Together, they orgasm and cling to one another, their hearts and souls syncing in this one perfect moment.

She isn't sure of the time that passes while entangled and riding the wave of bliss, consciousness wrapping around them in gradual steps, but when she does, they've rolled onto their sides. Both of them have dropped a hand to their growing children, fingers linked, as she has curled against his body, his length still resting within her before he slips back into his plates – like they used to do when they didn't live a life on a ship where duty could call at any time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SquigglySquid says:  I understand that the thought of hybrids is either a hit or miss type of thing, that either people want to see it or they don't.  Considering the impossibilities of it, and trying not to go with the 'space magic' explanation, I hope to have created a believable work around.  


	57. Chapter 57

-Garrus-

Arriving on the Citadel gave everyone a chance to finally find solid ground, or the illusion of it the massive station was known for, and the ship couldn't empty fast enough, only a few remaining onboard for whatever reasons. Among the ones who stayed were Doctor Chakwas, Mordin Solus, Garrus Vakarian, and his _pregnant_ wife.

He was still finding it nearly impossible to believe that they, two people who had come to terms with the fact they'd never have biological children nearly three and a half years ago, were expecting not only one, but _two_ children. Putting aside the nagging feeling of all the things that could go wrong, how this could end like most things he's tried to accomplish in this life, he has to admit he's ecstatic that he could be starting a family with the only one he'd live and die for.

So here they all are, in a now empty MedBay, with his mate's hand in his as she lays on an exam table as Chakwas rubs the sensor to the ultrasound over Jane's exposed abdomen and he purrs in happiness for her, occasionally nuzzling the crown of her head. Solus has been suspiciously quieter than usual – if his nearly audible humming would be considered that - only giving the doctor some advice or command as he watches the screen with his chin in his hand, but Garrus doesn't consider it a bad sign, the doctor isn't so quiet unless deep in concentration.

"There," he finally says with a grin and nod, looking up to the couple. "Difficult to locate. Had to consider human mother's anatomy. Embryos lower in abdomen in beginning of pregnancy than Turian."

"Well? Let's fucking see the little bastards." He gives his mate a look of admonition with a sigh, making her chuckle and squeeze his hand. "Alright, fine… loving, darling angels," she corrects innocently, receiving a flick of his mandible in silent 'that's not any better'.

He knows better than to doubt her excitement over the special gift within her, looks forward to each and every moment now that they know as much as he does. Her words are just her way of endearing their children and, if he has to admit, he'd rather she be as she is because it's entirely her than anything else. The chance would actually be more discerning than seeing her mood only chance for the better.

Smiling, Chakwas turns the screen for them to see and, despite his best intentions, he can't tell what the hell they're looking at. Granted, the doctor is no obstetrician, she admitted to as much, but with her and Mordin together, surely they could have managed to at least find something as out of place as two babies inside a human body?

"I don't know what we're looking at," he says with an embarrassed flicker of mandibles as he looks to his wife. "Do you?"

She shakes her head as Mordin – and Garrus could swear he's slightly astounded they couldn't see it, as if it's _so_ obvious – steps forward and begins to run his fingers over the screen. It's only as he begins to pull their attention away from everything else that it starts to make sense, make his eyes widen and mouth slacken.

In the middle of the conical image of white is a single, large black oval, but within it? Within is two tiny, round images. He can see the slightly elongated skulls – as compared to the nearly spherical one of a human – tiny arms and legs curled up around there bodies, a tiny fluttering within the circle of their limbs.

 _My two babies with a little beating heart each,_ he thinks to himself as he chirps and purrs in happiness, looking to his wife with the biggest grin he can manage with the bandage on his face. Pressing his forehead to hers, he whispers, "Those are ours, Jane. Our babies."

"Yeah… holy fucking shit balls," she says breathlessly with a huff of awe. "Those are in me…"

"As shown, show signs of Turian fetal development. Larger than average of human embryo. Predict rapid growth as is typical of Turian pregnancy." Solus nods as if agreeing with himself.

"Wait. How rapid?" Wanting to know that as well, Garrus looks to the professor with the same curiosity as his mate. He knows how long it is for Turians, he _did_ have biology classes in his instruction, after all, so he isn't completely lost.

Chakwas, still holding the sensor to the red head's belly, answers. "Turian pregnancies only last two trimesters-"

"Yes. Ancestral fallback. Predatory species with plated bodies not known for allowed extreme expansion for pregnancy. Offspring grow faster, need less time in womb. Would explain faster maturity than human." He goes quiet, tapping in his chin with a methodic hum in thought, nodding at an idea, but he doesn't make it known to the others.

"Okay. Let me get this straight," his mate takes a deep breath and he frowns in worry. _How long do humans carry a child?_ "So you're saying I have _six months_ only to carry _twins_? How am I supposed to even _do_ that? I mean, doesn't a woman's body have to take it slow and go the whole nine months." Garrus blinks and rumbles in surprise, making her look to him. "What? I at least know _that_."

"Actually, the nine month period is because the baby needs that time to develop completely. I can certainly give you something safe for your symptoms when they come."

Jane rubs her forehead at the doctor's words and he isn't sure why, what could be wrong. Thrumming in concern, he nuzzles her temple before giving her a gentle nudge. When she looks to him, something in her eyes, he squeezes her hand and at least takes it as a good sign with she squeezes back and offers a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

He makes it his mission to figure out what's bothering her as Chakwas calls their attention back with a question. "Would you like to hear their heartbeats?" Both are speechless, the only sound from him in a needy trill, as they both nod emphatically, like two children giddy for a surprise. "Well. Okay, then." The doctor chuckles as she taps a few buttons on the machine

The room erupts in the low, rhythmic whishing of the machine's signal bouncing through his mate's belly gets louder now through the speakers instead of just the sensor, but he's already gotten used to that – even if it seems like the others haven't really heard it the whole time. Yet, within that sound is something else, a slight variation, a lower 'thump' within the whishing. Closing his eyes and tightening his vocals, he focuses on it, and hears it, loud and clear… the beating of his children's hearts, almost in time with the other.

He can't help the widening of his mandibles when he sees the recognition in his wife's face finally take hold, her eyes growing wide and glistening with tears he will never, in his life, admit that he's seen. Those very eyes, so green with joy and shock, turn to him and laughs lightly, breathless and jovial. Purring and cupping her face in his hands, he joins her, laughing and clinging onto the other in the whirlwind of so many emotions it's been years since they've felt in their entirety.

Finally coming down, the doctor cleaning up with a smile, he continues to hold her as he turns to the two that have much more knowledge than the soon-to-be, unsuspecting parents. "Do you know how far along Jane is? How old the babies are?"

"Estimate thirteen to fourteen weeks. Not expert at fetal development, even without consideration of situation."

"Right, that's like, what, three months along?"

"Three and a half, Jane," Garrus corrects with a rumble as Chakwas approaches with an OSD. "What's this?"

"I thought you might like a copy of their images and recorded heartbeats," she answers with a smile. "I've also included everything I know about human pregnancies and could find on Turian ones. It should help when you have to tend to a symptom and can't immediately get to me." Chuckling, she raises a brow at them both before crossing her arms. "And this means you need to be coming to my MedBay much more often now."

Jane and Garrus both look away from the accusing look, he rubbing his neck and she nibbling her cheek in guilt, but he gives in first, sighing as he turns back. This isn't just them being stubborn now, this is their chance to be responsible for two little lives they actually _want_ to sacrifice for without ever being asked. "For them, we'll make sure we meet every appointment with you." He looks to her and sees that look back in her eyes, but she nods to the doctor despite it.

"If that's all, Doctor," his wife asks, leaving the question open to him if he needs to ask anything. He doesn't and looks to Chakwas, more like their lead in this first time of something neither of them ever thought possible nor gave more than a passing thought.

She shakes her head under the eyes of the two and looks to Mordin, who also mirrors her answer. "No, Jane, Garrus. I think that's enough to last you two through the leave." The doctor chuckles and helps move the ultrasound machine out of the way as Jane gets up, her hand in his.

"Thank you, Doctor Chakwas," he offers in passing as they leave, Jane abnormally quiet and withdrawn after they both just got quite the news that surely worth at least a foul word or two. "Jane? What's wrong?"

Sighing, she motions the Battery. "We should probably do this in private." That only makes him more concerned, rumbling in question as he falls behind her lead, her hand in his the only thing pulling him to move. Once inside, she finally turns to him and lets out a deep breath as she lifts her eyes to his. "I have to tell you about what happened yesterday. With Hackett."

"You mean the debrief?" She nods and the look still doesn't leave her face. If anything, her frown deepens. "Jane, please tell me. What did you tell him?"

"I told him what he wanted to hear. That I went alone." Something in the way she leans back on his console and rubs her belly concerns him and he can't help the step closer to her, the finger under her chin to lift her eyes to his. He has to see her when she says whatever it is that's gotten her into this state. "They… They want me to go to Earth, to go on trial for-"

"No," he growls. He doesn't need to know why she'd be called to Earth because it's all too obvious. Someone has to pay for the death of so many innocent people, people _he_ condemned, not her. "You lied to protect me. I won't let you go to Earth for a crime _I_ am responsible for."

In typical Jane fashion when he defies her way of thinking – not that he doesn't like the fact she stands by her thinking, even wrong, and remains the same strong willed woman he fell in love with – she glares up at him. "You think I'd just let you go to Earth? You fucking stupid? The Batarians want blood and the Alliance would be all too happy to hand you, a _Turian_ , over to prevent war. 'Oh, he's just some maniac from Omega,' they'd say. 'It's just like a Turian to try and take out humanity by easily starting a war with the Hegemony'. They won't care to protect you and I doubt the Hierarchy will get involved when they can just see you as a vigilante. You think I'll just let you be the Alliance's scapegoat?"

"And you just think I'll let _you_ become a martyr?!" His hand shifts from her chin to her shoulder, holding her firmly as he growls in defiance down to her. "They will do the same to you they've always done, feed you to the wolves."

She shakes her head, a firm pull to her lips. "The Alliance won't extradite me. That'd be like admitting their guilt, that, this time, the Batarians are right in saying this was a strike by humanity against them. _Think_ , Garrus," she says as she narrows her eyes, green boring up at him. "How would that look to the fucking Council, humanity trying to start a war? No. The _last_ thing the Alliance wants to do is hand me over."

Flicking his mandible in slight contempt at her slightly off-skewed ideas, he rumbles with a shake of his head. "So you'll just allow the Alliance to imprison you. Smart plan, Jane." He growls and cups her head in both hands. " _Why_ are you still serving them? They have ignored you, disowned you, and betrayed you. They don't deserve your loyalty, your _life_."

Her expression actually lessens, the fire dimming as her eyes search his and hands gently wrap around his wrists. It causes the same in him, whether intentionally or not, and he rumbles in confusion as the tensing in his muscles from his frustration eases. "Garrus. This isn't just about us anymore. This may be my only chance to get humanity to _listen_. If I can take enough evidence, pull my favors I've built up with Admirals and politicians, then maybe, _just maybe_ , I can get the Alliance to at least consider preparing for the Reapers."

That drains the rest of his anger, the fact that every is so close to ending always effective in draining away his will to defy her when there's a fraction of logic within her words. "At least tell me why I must let you leave me? Why I have to let _our children_ be at the mercy of the Alliance? Jane, we talked about this not twenty-four hours ago."

"I know," she says weakly, frowning. "And I will do everything I can to make sure they are safe, pull my Admiral card. Hell, I'll even turn traitor for them. But you _have_ to go to your own people, make them believe too."

He huffs a laugh devoid of any and all humor. "Yeah, that's not going to happen. I'm a vigilante, remember? I have absolutely _no_ pull in the Hierarchy, even less than I did when I was in C-Sec and that's definitely saying something. There's no way they'll even listen to my request for an audience."

"Then you don't go through official channels. Scream and yell until they can do nothing _but_ listen to you, annoy the shit out of them so they listen just to shut you the hell up." Her eyes sharpen with determination. "Anything and everything, Garrus. If this were just about you and me, then I wouldn't give two flying fucks about returning to Earth, but it isn't just you and me anymore. This," she takes his hands to her belly. "This is what we have to sacrifice for, what we have to swallow our prides for and kiss ass. You go out there to Palaven, I will go to Earth, and we will both put together armies to protect and give our children a fucking galaxy to live in." Leaving his hands on her stomach, she cups his face and lifts to her toes to press her forehead to his, he ducking down to meet her halfway. "I may not be able to give you my freedom, but I will give you a family and galaxy for them to live in."

Garrus knows she's right and he hates it, loathes how nothing ever goes right for them no matter what they do, what they give up for others. Closing his eyes, he gives a slight nod as he says, "I will only agree with you under four conditions. First, you will use Liara to keep in contact with me, our messages encrypted to keep out the Alliance."

"Agreed," she answers with a nod, not even thinking about it.

"Second, I don't care what your restrictions are, I _will_ be with you whenever I can be. Whether or not the Alliance grants me access to you doesn't matter one damn bit, I will have my time with you even if I have to take it." He gets a hesitant nod, knowing that goes against what they've mostly said already, but he takes the lack of true denial in her posture and eyes as a good sign that she whole-heartedly agrees. "Third, whatever you've managed to convince your people of or haven't, as soon as our children are born and able to travel, you are mine." He takes her chin in hand to look into his eyes, keeping her to his forehead. "I will break you out and become humanity's number one enemy if they don't peacefully hand you over, Reapers be damned."

That actually gets a snort and smirk out of her, the first real amusement in this conversation. "Deal, but more because I actually want to see that. I can see the headline now, 'big bad Archangel taking on the Alliance to free mate and both turning into the most efficient pirate couple'."

"Pirate?" His head tilts to his confused rumble.

"Jack." Explanation enough, he nods in understanding. "Now, what was your fourth condition?"

"You come with me to Sur'Kesh to see my mother," he whispers, closing his eyes in shame for needing to ask his wife for support in something she's was never a part of, something he never _made_ her a part of because of his fear of what his father may think. "I think, with the babies coming, that I will take you up on your offer to meet her." _Just don't be surprised if my father and sister are there._

"Well, I _did_ make that promise myself, so it shouldn't really be a condition, but sure." Frowning, she cups his head and caresses her thumbs over his cheek plates. "You know I can't stay forever on Sur'Kesh, right?"

His hands tighten into fists at being reminded as he growls, "I may not be able to convince you, or even myself, that this isn't a completely idiotic and suicidal idea that will lead nowhere, but I sure as hell don't have to like it. I've already told you before, I'd give up and abandon every duty for you, but now I'm torn between being by your side, protecting you and my unborn children with my very life, and providing them a future by leaving you to go to a world that no longer holds anything for me."

She simply nods and they both know there is nothing that can be said to ease the ache already starting to build from the inevitable, from the very fact that this decision to build up their people's armies could actually cost them the last of their time together. There is, after all, no way of predicting how everything will fall into place once the Reapers finally manage to invade their galaxy, once and for all.

* * *

It was strange stepping off the Normandy – the last time for him for however long he managed to control his heart and broke his promise to let her build an army on Earth – and onto the tropical Salarian homeworld without battle being their intention. All of his things were either in a duffle over his back or crate waiting at a security locker on the docks, not needing armor and weapons to visit his mother, and he was, for the first time in what feels like years, in clothes that didn't consist of military civilian wear or disguise.

Even his wife was dressed in an outfit reminiscent of those she wore on the Citadel so many years ago when her biggest missions included the occasional pirate group or colony defense exercise. What stood out in her outfit, one purchased before they left the Citadel by Kelly with some of their cut from the last vestiges of Cerberus credits, was the white vest that hid her slight roundness around her torso. It helped to lessen the shock of her pregnancy, both to keep the prying eyes off her as well as to make it much easier to introduce her to the family and gradually reveal all the secrets they've been keeping.

Her hand in his, they give a last parting wave to the pilot waiting on the docks – Garrus has gained a bit more respect for the man who's willing to join his wife in being grounded on Earth, easing the strife between the two – and walk down the docks towards a transport to the Helos Medical Center. Upon reaching it, he hears the fast approach of feet and, still suspicious from Archangel, he grips her hand, turning to put her behind him as he readies to put down their tail.

His growl is cut off as the Salarian coming towards them is missing one horn. "Mordin?" They both knew the man would travel with them here, to get the most out of the Science Lab instead of be stuck mindlessly doing nothing on a public transport – no idea how the other travelers would have survived that, so it's for the best – but Garrus expected him to disappear as soon as they were cleared onto the docks. "Usually 'good-bye' means you don't have to follow us around anymore."

Jane snorts at his back as the man shakes his head, saying. "Had offer. Best to speak in private." He motions a free skycar before opening his tool. "Free of bugs. Will join you."

That gets another snort from his wife as she chuckles. "Sure, invite yourself into our cab. So long as you pay half the tab." Sighing, Garrus rolls his eyes and helps her in before tossing his duffle into the cargo compartment before sitting beside her. Mordin climbs in to sit across from them with a smile on his face, as if excited about knowing something they don't. "Alright, spit it out."

"Have colleague from STG, knowledgeable about xeno gestation and fetal development. Even discussed topic many occasions. Willing to ask assistance."

"Wait," Garrus interrupts. "Did you really just tell us you talked to someone about our children? I thought we all agreed to keep this _secret_." He growls the last part.

Not to be intimidated, Solus simply shakes his head. "Not speak of children, spoke hypotheticals. Worked together on Genophage modification. Focused more on impact on Krogan reproduction and fetal abnormalities, disagreed with many developments until found perfect means of modification. Shared many intellectual debates over need for modification-"

"Mordin," this time it's his wife who interrupts. "Spit it out."

"Yes," he answers with a nod of his head. "Understand must travel to Earth. Need trustworthy and knowledgeable obstetrician to monitor pregnancy, ensure offspring have best possible care. Can request assistance."

"And what if this guy isn't as trustworthy as you think?"

"Not male, female." That stuns them both. _A female in STG?_ "Not just trust for friendship, trust curiosity, morality. Many disagreements focused on modifications effects to Krogan embryos. Know only one to view delicate matter of secretive pregnancy with more importance on health than experiment."

"And you think she won't harm Jane or the babies?" Garrus hums in intrigue. If this woman can be truly trusted, then maybe, just maybe, he might not be so against letting his wife traverse the dark waters of politics while pregnant with galaxy altering children alone. "Even protect them if it came down to it?" Solus nods and he looks to Jane, wanting his mate's thoughts.

"How long would it take if I had to leave immediately?" she asks as he squeezes her hand at that thought.

"Within area. Works at genetics lab within eighty minutes of Helos. May even request her to board Normandy as soon as she accepts?"

"Do it," Garrus answers for her, turning to her and pressing his forehead to hers in all the things he can't say. He trusts Mordin and if Mordin trusts this woman, then he can too. He has to because there's no other choice but letting his mate go completely alone, and he'll damn the entire galaxy to the Reapers that let that happen.

The rest of the ride goes by without incident and, once they arrive at the large building overlooking a large lake fed by a low waterfall through a grove of trees, they give their final good-byes and thanks to their eccentric friend before he disappears off into the facility, bound for more experiments if they know him. That only leaves the two of them and Garrus isn't sure if, after coming this far, he can take the last steps into the building to look for the only other woman he's ever loved unconditionally.

"Garrus," the soft, calming voice at his side intones. "It will be okay."

Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head. "No it won't, but thanks for the sentiment." He squeezes her hand to fight the frown pulling at her face and starts to walk beside her and into the cold, dead building that feels like a grave. "It hasn't been okay for a while."

"You… you said that before, that she's been sick for a while," she whispers and he nods.

"At first it was just diagnosed as _Tremulus_ – tremors – and the meds worked for a long time, but then she started…" he keens at the memory of first hearing her declining health, at a time he didn't let himself feel so it still hurts once he's opened himself back to experiencing emotions. The firm grip in his hand helps to ease his pain and he looks to her, drinking in the green in her eyes to calm himself.

"She started showing signs that the medicines were no longer working," he tries again with a frown. "And then she started getting confused, forgetting the littlest of things."

"That's when they found out they were wrong," she supplies with a frown furrowing her brows and he nods. "Fuck."

He no longer bothers with what if's – _what if her doctors had caught it sooner? If they weren't too caught up in their damn pride to not just go with the obvious, easy answer? What if **I** had been more observant? __–_ because it doesn't do a damn thing but keep him up at night. As much as it hurts to admit, he knows his mother is just as stubborn as he is and she'd never go to another doctor. 'He's been our family doctor for decades', she'd say, 'I trust his diagnosis', but it all wouldn't, didn't, matter as it doesn't get over the fact that she's here, possibly withering away while doctors hide the fact they can't ever put her back to the way she was behind encouraging words.

When they approach an information desk, it's Jane who speaks up and he's grateful, he's not sure he can't speak yet without a pleading whine to his vocals that this not be real, only a dream. "Excuse me? Can you tell us where Valeria Vakarian's room is? Her son would like to see her."

"Oh," the Salarian attendant exclaims, blinking in surprise at her admittance of his relation. His glassy eyes look over Garrus before he nods, opening his terminal. "We were told to expect a visit from Mrs. Vakarian's son in the coming days by her daughter. Forgive me for not recognizing you from your picture."

"I get that a lot," he responds with little inflection, looking around the lobby at the numerous different species of patients and he hates it. His distaste for hospitals only grows the longer he's here, in this place that feels more like a place for people to go than live, a lie behind the clean and sterile walls and furnishings.

Humming, the man types over the interface. "It says that Mrs. Vakarian is actually out in the courtyard enjoying the sun," he says with a smile. "I can have someone show you unless you'd like to go yourself? It's just right out those doors there." Following his fingers leads the eye to a recessed seating area with frosted windows along the far wall. "The far panel is a door, just push and you'll be in the courtyard. Mrs. Vakarian really enjoys the view of the lake, so I'd expect her to be there."

Nodding, Jane thanks him and practically drags Garrus with her, giving him no choice but to follow. The closer his gets to the doors, the higher his keens becomes, the lower his head ducks in shame, but she persists, pushing open the door and bringing him out into the bright sun.

Outside is an exact opposite as within, the air fresh and slightly damp from the moisture in the air, those outside carrying themselves with the hope and confidence in their treatments. He can almost tell himself that this place isn't a facility that focuses on the incurable, that most of these people may never live to actually see their ailments have a true cure. Even if it's a ruse, it helps to ease his agonized vocals, helps to keep the Turian patients' eyes off him, and gives him the strength to grip his mate's hand in silent request to be here, to let him lean on her even if it shames him.

"You okay?" He looks down to her to see worry in her eyes and, he knows, she'd stop and turn around right here, right now, if he asked, if he really wasn't ready for this. The only thing stopping him from taking the offer to escape is the fact that he knows he can no longer run from this, from anything, because he is no longer than man, that child that just thinks ignorance means correction.

"I'm not okay, but I want to see her. I _need_ to see her," he corrects himself with a weak smile. "Thank you for being here."

Nodding in what he knows is both a 'you're welcome' and 'never thank me for being here for you', she returns to looking through the courtyard from their position. He takes a deep breath to calm himself and, finally, lifts his head from his guilty downturn to scan the area.

He stills as his eyes lock on a figure he'd never forget, even if she's thinner and much more frail looking, and his change in posture immediately draws his wife's attention. Tense with mouth moving without so much as a whisper of sound, Garrus just watches his mother, the most beautiful Turian he has ever seen in his life, sit on a bench overlooking the lake. He's unable to see her face, she if there is recognition or confusion in his eyes, and he can't help the keen as he clenches his eyes shut, chest clenching.

Without words, Jane pulls him to bend down against her, holding his head to her chest as her tiny hand rubs his back in soothing circles. It takes him what feels like an eternity of gasping keens before he starts to control himself, command his emotions that now isn't the time to condemn himself for lost time, not when this may be his only chance to bring together the two loves of his life for what may be the first and last time.

Breathing in a shaking breath, he rumbles in an absentminded thanks as he stands. This time, it is he who leads with a determination not to crack and fall for his mother, to be the strength she needs when her own mind and body are failing and betraying her. The closer his gets, the better the view of her - of the view of her back straight and shoulders held in that special way with one higher than the other because she tends to rest a single elbow on her thigh to hold her chin - becomes and the more it convinces him that he shouldn't be wasting the time he can be spending with her on condemning his past actions.

"M…Mom?" he says weakly, mandibles fluttering in worry that this would be a bad day.

At first she doesn't react, but she does glance over her shoulder to see who's speaking to who, at first not seeing until she takes a second look a bit comically. Her eyes widen as she gasps, trilling in surprise. "Garrus?!" she practically screams in happiness as she stands, a bit too quickly and making herself wobble. He catches her and hears her chuckle before tugging him down to rub their mandibles together, purring. "And here I thought you'd never come visit your dear old mother."

He's feel bad for that if not for the playful quirk of her mandibles. After a moment, she begins to take him in, frowning and rumbling in concern as she gently cups his bad side, he leaning into the touch. "Now what kind of trouble did you go and get yourself into?" she asks with a motherly huff of vexation, as if he just got into her garden again and cut himself on the Blade Irises.

"It's a long story, mom." He rumbles with a flick of his good mandible. "I actually have something much better I'd like to talk about." At her curious head tilt, he turns to his wife and holds out his hand for her, she smiling and taking it. "Mom? This is Jane, my-"

"Bondmate," she interrupts with a knowing grin and rumble.

That throws him and his head bobs in surprise. "What? How did you know?" Snorting, his mother waves that question off as she smiles at his mate. "How long have you known?"

"Known? Until just now. Suspected? Since I visited your apartment and found the scratches on your table – a table we have at home, by the way." Ducking his head, his mandibles flutter with an embarrassed rumble as Valeria Vakarian steps to his wife, Jane offering a hand.

"It's an honor to meet the woman that made Garrus the wonderful man he is today. I –!" His mother hugs her, caressing her mandible to Jane's jaw, as if she had the limb to return the nuzzle.

Stepping back, his mother smiles with a purr and says, "There is no need for formalities, Jane, my dear. And I should be thanking _you_." At the confusion in the green eyes, she chuckles and nods, motioning to sit with her. When they do, she continues, her hand taking his wife's. "It's no secret that Garrus and my mate, Titus, have never completely gotten along. I don't know if they ever truly will unless one of them bends to the other's will – something I'm not sure is the right thing to do either – but, when I saw him that day on the Citadel, he was truly happy, free of burdens.

"I know you're the reason he ever found the courage to leave C-Sec when he joined you on that mission against Saren and I also know you were why he tried to join the Spectres once more." Now she rumbles sadly and looks to him, her free hand cupping his face. "And even I could see that you were why he disappeared. I don't know what happened, and I don't know if I ever do, but you are here now." She smiles again and squeezes Jane's hand. "And now I _know_ I have another daughter."

He chuckles at the thought that that isn't all the news they have and sees Jane's eyes look up to him, locking with a smile in 'go ahead'. Clearing his throat, he gets his mother's attention again as he purrs with a smile. "There's more, mom."

"More? More news?" she chirps and her eyes light up in excitement. "What is it?"

"Well, don't ask us to explain the science behind it, but Jane's pregnant."

She emits a noise he's never heard from her, a sort of gasping squeal, before she grabs him into a, albeit weak, hug, purring and chirping as he returns the hug. It takes a moment, but soon she's pulling Jane in too, sharing in a gesture he's sure she must have learned here at this facility – the act of hugging not too common amongst Turians. Not that he will complain, it's become normal fare between him and Jane over the years that he barely remembers _not_ hugging the ones he loves.

"Oh Spirits, Garrus. Jane." Valeria presses a forehead to each of theirs. "You say 'science', what does that mean?"

This time it's Jane who answers with a chuckle. "We'll just call it space magic, but the babies are Garrus' undoubtedly." At that, he nods and takes the OSD to his Tool, offering the picture of them to his mother, relishing in another of those odd noises.

"Spirits… two?!" He nods and she actually bounces a bit, her mandibles flicking in wide smiles. Her fingers lightly hovering over the holographic image, tracing the shapes she must recognize easier than them after having two children of her own. Taking it as a chance to surprise her even more, he types in the command for the heartbeats' recording. His mother purrs at that, leaning closer to his Tool's speaker, and her eyes close as she listens. "One's a boy and the other's a girl," she says with firm conviction.

"Huh?" Green eyes look to him in confusion as his mother sits up. "How do you know?"

She shrugs. "I just have a feeling. Plus, one sounds like Garrus when he was in my belly and the other like Solana, my daughter. There's a slower beat to the little girl and a faster to the boy's. You wait," she assures with a grin and nod of her head.

They continue to talk about everything and nothing, taking advantage of his mother's lucidity, before she begins to grow tired, her nurse coming to fetch her for her medication. Jane, too, seems exhausted and hungry, most likely from the babies within her and the fact that, without being on duty, they haven't been able to keep track of time.

Despite his arguments, his mother insists that he and Jane take the rest of the night to themselves, get a chance to see to their accommodations for their stay on Sur'Kesh. They can't deny her, not when she has that firm, 'don't talk back to your mother, young man' look in her eyes. He can't even help the slight duck of his head in submission to her order before each other them give her a hug and nuzzle, Jane promising to 'drag Garrus to visit more'.

Chuckling as she watches his mother go, Jane smirks up to him, leaving him confused and asking, "What?"

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Where you get your smart mouth," she answers with a snort. "You both are insufferable smart asses when you want to be. I tell you, bad influence." Her smirk and chuckle prove all too well what she really thinks of them, making him snort, completely unconvinced.

"You love my mouth." Leaving out just one word gets the intended response, her laughter so hard to come by when working.

"It definitely has its uses, Garrus," she agrees with a companionable shove as they turn to leave, coming face to face with the _other_ part of his family.

Solana, much more subdued and understand after his communications after the Collector Base let her know he was coming home, is still shocked at his face, her crossed arms falling at her sides. He can live with the shock, it's nothing he can't handle, and he's on easy enough terms with his younger sister to not be worried about this sort of reunion between the two siblings.

The one he's worried about is his father, the silent man whose eyes scan his entire visage, stopping when their eyes lock. "Garrus."

"Father," he rumbles.

"It's good to see you visiting your mother. I assume whatever matter you had to deal with is taken care of?"

"Yes and no." Wanting to leave work behind, he looks to his mate to see her confident nod in encouragement. "Dad, this is-"

"Commander Shepard. Or is that title even used in an organization like Cerberus?"

Jane interrupts now, cutting off any angry retort. "Well… I'm not really with the Alliance anymore, so it's not Commander. But, then again, I'm not really with Cerberus either so I'm kinda that limbo of 'ah! There's no work!'." Much to her credit, she completely ignores the look of scrutiny as she jokes and it actually helps ease Garrus' ire.

"I see." His father leaves it at that as he returns to his son. "Even after Severus' story of your 'meeting' on the Citadel, I have to admit I wasn't expecting the damage you received. I'm curious how you managed to repair the damage as much as it seems without any of us hearing of your admittance into a hospital."

"That's because I didn't _go_ to a hospital." He unconsciously lifts a hand to his face. "And before you say anything, no, I won't hide my face in any way. I deserved this scars and I wear them proudly."

"'Deserve'?" Titus Vakarian lifts a brow plate, looking between him and his wife, eyes definitely taking in the hairline scars on her face. He doesn't speak of whatever he must be thinking as he looks back up to Garrus, asking, "What are your plans now, Garrus? Will you stay?"

Not sure how to respond to that – _is he baiting?_ – his mandibles flick. "Stay is a relative term, actually. I can't really talk about it right now, but I do plan on spending my time between here, Palaven, and Earth."

"Why Earth?" Solana finally pitches in and at with one of the worst possible questions.

"Because that's where my mate and wife is," he answers, eyes locking onto his father's in challenge with a low growl of threat to not make this into another fight, not here. "Sol, father. Jane is my bondmate and future mother to my children."

Sol squeaks in surprise as his father doesn't reveal anything in his vocals or expression. After a moment that seems to go on for an eternity, he speaks. "Children is impossible in the traditional sense, Garrus."

Jane snorts behind his back. "You obviously don't know that we work in impossibilities. Getting knocked up is nothing compared to the other shit we do."

"You have an eloquence to your vocabulary," he responds, very little humor to his words that are so heavily loaded with sarcasm. "Garrus, why is it you have come with your 'mate'? It's been two years since you've seen your mother and, while I know this medical trail participation has to have been from your interference, it doesn't make up for the time you were running around the galaxy with this woman. Your mother needed you."

"My mate needed me," he growls, hands fisting. "My wife _died_ , dad, and you're too blind or stupid to realize." A hand on his back helps to calm him. 'Now isn't the place or time to argue, not over a matter than means nothing but his callous wording' the touch says and he knows it's right. Sighing, he relaxes his hands. "Yes, I know I wasn't here for two years, but you can't expect me not to be lost after losing my bondmate, after wanting to join her while at least _attempting_ to do some final cleaning up. I was ready to die, dad, and you know that. I called you thinking it was my last chance to come to at least some sort of compromise, but then she came.

"And, yes, she worked for Cerberus, we both did, but we had a damn good reason. We took the lesser of two evils and, if you don't believe me, I have proof. Proof I hope to make someone believe because, if I don't, then our people will die." He frowns and looks out over the lake. "I know you only like evidence, but I have it. And I'm willing to give you every last piece of it, but you have to believe in me, you have to see me at someone capable of doing something right in my entire life." His eyes return to this father's, narrowed in steeled resolve. "If that means you have to look at me as something other than your son, then so be it, I have long since given up wanting to fit into your mold." Those are his parting words, at least for now, as he takes his mate's hand and leaves.

The following days are filled with visits to his mother, some good and some bad, and few words between the two Vakarian males. Every night is filled with Jane in his arms until, one night, he comes up from the cantina with food to hear her playing her guitar, sitting on the window sill overlooking the sparkling city and stars above as some fallen sketches are at her feet, the books too full of images to survive relocation without dropping a few loose pages.

She doesn't see him as she continues singing whatever it is he walked in on. "We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day. Keep smiling through, just like you always do 'til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away." Frowning at the truth in her words, hearing the sadness in her voice that mirrors his own, he steps into the room and quietly closes the door and she stops playing to let just her voice carry over the stars. "So will you please say 'hello' to the folks that I know, tell them it won't be long. They'll be happy to know that as you saw me go I singin' this song."

Heart breaking, he sets the food down and goes to sit with her on the seat before the window and she turns to him, smiling sadly. He doesn't know how long she's known he has been in the room, but he doesn't need to, the look on her face says it all. Whether the song was for him or her, the point is the same.

Earth has called their shining light home, a light they will most surely dim or snuff out completely if he cannot protect her from light-years away. He cannot stop her, not completely, and he knows he hasn't given her much time for success, but, come tomorrow, he won't much care about humanity when he rolls over and finds her side of the bed empty.

* * *

SquigglySquid says:  And so ends this installment to Parable.  It will take some time to complete the prep work for the next, but stick around, the fun is just beginning!

 


End file.
